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And she rides the never world of her own majestic mountain. And
remembering the snow and the demons, she flies... Across a
scarlet forever, with a shimmering more divine. The witches ride
the sabbat, just a breeze across her path. The breath of unborn
gods blows in her hair, and she runs to meet the night. Against
the shallow consecration of the spiders sigh, drinking the silver
through her veins, a starry sanguine alive. She can't ever come
down, ever come back, she's not here. A pitiful lust of the
common, clawing at her, screaming, but only you can see her. She
dances the pentagram ablaze, lit like the fire of hell.
Spontaneous and natural, the kundalini of the soul. Come into my
parlour, the temptress red, the blood of the moon washing to
cleanse of death.
An anthem requiem for the refuge of the souls, the chosen come.
The willowy silence of the grave, the sight of the new time, the
tombs damp and waiting like the serpents of the earth.
Quiet lucid sighing, a gateway like no other, deep and dark and
mystic in the lure of the ending. Monstrous halls of her mind, a
labyrinth dark, consuming nothing and creating the web. An abyss
of sorrow, weeping in the battles of ghouls and laughter, run to
penetrate the storm. She comes like the new death, the lost
transformation, the circle of the dimension invisible. And her
consciousness passes between rats, biting between traps, she
wants it no more. Forever knowing above the height of the wind,
the view of the nightshade differs, as the moon fires the path
silent. She rides her own majesty. Quiet lucid sighing, gateway
like no other, deep and dark and mystic in the lure of the ending
But as the sun dies with forever, her crown grows evermore.
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