Burning Flesh,
Dripping absinthe oil,
Consuming them all,
She is like the paralyzing snake,
Charming and enchanting
is She, the Babylon Whore.
Leading to other worlds,
She guides all of us, the lost girls.
She stole our skins to seduce the beast,
The Harlot is merely a mannequin
belonging to the Underworld,
Where she fornicates with unclean demons.
I cannot remember
how it was when we first met.
She has the curve of the moon
And haunts the shores of Midian,
Where the stars are Hell-bound and sent
to come together whilst she dwells among filthy beasts.
I dreamt a midnight castle,
And the eerie songs of wolves
danced alongside Her in the flames.
As I watched, Her eyes darted through the fire
and stole my trapped soul.
No longer does the forest whisper puce laments for Her.
Her rites of sin
took Her purity within,
So that the filthy slut spends her time
Burdening Him, the highest one adored.
She dresses in our skins
to flaunt and flirt with nasty spirits.
Always poised on winter,
But never will She break,
for She hides inside our lost and darkened souls,
And fills our minds with blackened witch spells
that pound and thrive in her wake.
We have been made into empty faded ghouls.
Flagrant in the past,
Our names were deeply carved
on the tree of long-dead and vast languages,
Where She mutilated our futures
using long and wasted nails
made of diluted mutated faith.
Lead us to other worlds,
Oh, You vehement snake,
You have stolen our skins and souls,
May You rot in Hell, disgusting harlequin woman.
Mother of all abominations,
Be our Mannequin.
