| Spawned wanton like blight on an auspicious night
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| Her eyes betrayed spells of the moon’s eerie light
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| A disquieting gaze forever ghosting far seas
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| Bled white and dead, her true mother was fed
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| To the ravenous wolves that the elements led
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| From crag-jagged mountains that seemingly grew in unease
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| Through the maw of the woods, a black carriage was drawn
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| Flanked by barbed lightning that hissed of the storm
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| (Gilded in crests of Carpathian breed)
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| Bringing slaves to the sodomite for the new-born
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| On that eve when the Countess' own came deformed
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| (A tragedy crept to the name Bathory)
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| Elizabeth christened, no paler a rose
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| Grew so dark as this sylph
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| None more cold in repose
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| Yet her beauty spun webs
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| Round hearts a glance would betroth
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| She feared the light
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| So when She fell like a sinner to vice
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| Under austere, puritanical rule
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| She sacrificed
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| Mandragora like virgins to rats in the wall
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| But after whipangels licked prisoners, thralled
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| Never were her dreams so maniacally cruel
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| (And possessed of such delights) |
| For ravens winged Her nightly flights
|
| Of erotica
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| Half spurned from the pulpit
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| Torments to occur
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| Half learnt from the cabal of demons
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| In her
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| Her walk went to voodoo
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| To see her own shadow adored
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| At mass without flaw
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| Though inwards she abhored
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| Not her coven of suitors
|
| But the stare of their Lord
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| I must avert mine eyes to hymns
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| For his gaze brings dogmas to my skin
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| He knows that I dreamt of carnal rites
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| With him undead for three long nights
|
| Elizabeth listened
|
| No sermons intoned
|
| Dragged such guilt to her door
|
| Tombed her soul with such stone
|
| For she swore the priest sighed
|
| When she knelt down to atone…
|
| She feared the light
|
| So when she fell
|
| Like a sinner to vice
|
| Under austere, puritanical rule
|
| She sacrificed
|
| Her decorum as chaste
|
| To this wolf of the cloth
|
| Pouncing to haunt
|
| Her confessional box
|
| Forgiveness would come
|
| When her sins were washed off
|
| By rebaptism in white…
|
| The looking glass cast Belladonna wreaths
|
| 'Pon the grave of her innocence
|
| Her hidden face spat murder
|
| From a whisper to a scream |
| All sleep seemed cursed
|
| In Faustian verse
|
| But there in orgiastic Hell
|
| No horrors were worse
|
| Than the mirrored revelation
|
| That she kissed the Devil’s phallus
|
| By her own decree…
|
| So with windows flung wide to the menstrual sky
|
| Solstice Eve she fled the castle in secret
|
| A daughter of the storm, astride her favourite nightmare
|
| On winds without prayer
|
| Stigmata still wept between her legs
|
| A cold bloodedness which impressed new hatreds
|
| She sought the soceress
|
| Through the snow and dank woods to the sodomite’s lair
|
| Nine twisted fates threw hewn bone die
|
| For the throat of Elizabeth
|
| Damnation won and urged the moon
|
| In soliloquy to gleam
|
| Twixt the trees in shafts
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| To ghost a path
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| Past the howl of buggered nymphs
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| In the sodomite’s grasp
|
| To the forest’s vulva
|
| Where the witch scholared her
|
| In even darker themes
|
| Amongst philtres and melissas
|
| Midst the grease of strangled men
|
| And eldritch truths, elder ill-omen
|
| Elizabeth came to life again
|
| And under lacerations of dawn she returned
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| Like a flame unto a deathshead |
| With a promise to burn
|
| Secrets brooded as she rode
|
| Through the mist and marsh to where they showed
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| Her castle walls wherein the restless
|
| Counted carrion crows
|
| She awoke from a fable to mourning
|
| Church bells wringing her madly from sleep
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| Tolled by a priest, self castrated and hung
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| Like a crimson bat 'neath the belfry
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| The biblical prattled their mantras
|
| Hexes six-tripled their fees
|
| But Elizabeth laughed, thirteen Autumns had passed
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| And she was a widow from God and his wrath finally… |