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.