The nights foul pleasures,
Etched in morning frost,
No speak of Edens treasures,
Heavens throne has been begot.

Reclaimed by familiars,
Of every pounding whim,
While the midnight orgy-massacre,
Doth feast from thighs of seraphim,

'Twixt the lunar eclipse,
And caress of her lips,
Animal instincts do surface in me,
For "From water to wine",
On her corpse I do dine,
For to waste such a beauty,
Would be travesty.

With my morbid seed,
I do proceed,
As celestial bodies align.....
For my actions beseech,
What the angels did preach,
Your holy now I do mime

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