Orijinal sözler
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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
