Oh, how bitter chill it was, Waking the maid as it came To her thought's strange sister, Debauching its way to her bed
As if the Norns have woven a curse In her destiny 's ropes, Garrottes that strangle her soul But merely arouse her flesh
So, the blithe spirit rests here not But decay s and reeks of rot Tainted by her dream in heal As she fingers under the sheets
Besotted, She whetted, Her habit She oft ripped And as she wept It silently crept Between her legs Like a serpent and tongued
And, every orifice sweetly in glee Join her ill-fated revelry, This ravenous, self-pleasing fiend In her dream saw such secrecies:
Imagine a scene, most obscene - of pure blasphemy The fall of the idols, before her eyes - hopeless signs The worlds are ablaze with a murderous haze - a sickly fate The decadent stench of the burning flesh, of the ancient ones
Such a wondrous demise To those whom the unbound Loki detests and despises
The ghostly clouds are finally rent - bleeding the blood of men A star-dogged moon illuminates the doom - the swaying noose The burden of end forever descend on this world again, In this carnal garden it is so dark and cold...
And those woods, yonder, Like some gaunt voyeur Grinds 'neath the rind, 'Neath the menstrual, bleeding skies, Pants against her frosty pane, Licking the rime with zest, Deflowering the forest In a strange, seductive pain
And. down their lifeless, slutty limbs Descended hungering Nymphs , Down on all fours To go down on her by force
Blindly drunk on such lust And sweetly arousing disgust, This Libertina in fever embraced The new-found decadence in her Their softly timbered fingers In sweet, entailing, Tear asunder the sheets And penetrate the maiden's dream