اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
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
