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When the miscreants fell dead
She took to conjuring spells in the cusp of the night
And the bestial floor shook with terrible life
I rise before thee Queen
To feed our lusts on the blood of the weak
To rule heaven and worlds crawling beneath
Satanic Tyranny
I Found Her tempting fate between Her wrist and razor
A kindred spirit in a graveyard
Beneath the stature of a colder saviour
Mist hung like thieves wreathed in scant arabesques
And through the chill earth it bedwed Her drawling breast
Like a come dream true under etched glass spent
Making...