Demon, Demon burning bright in our rituals of the night; what immortal cast of die did shape thy soul to yearn for mine? In what distant deeps or skies turns your world of funeral pyres? On what wings does death conspire? By whose cloaked hand will we expire? What did smolder to make your start, twist such fetid sinews into a heart? And as that corruption began to beat, why turn your hand to chain my feet? Why the scythe – to secure my bane? In what furnace burns thy brain? Whose poor soul did you first grasp within your ravenous evil clasp? And when you did withdraw your skewer why mount their heads upon a mirror? Did you smile, your work to see? Did he who made hellfire make thee? Demon Demon burning bright, In our rituals of the night. What immortal court up high Finds me so cursed that I should die?
THANKS SO MUCH, KENNETH!
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