In a frigorific and caliginous dungeon,
You ensconce me along with the dust.
Our flesh is so terribly pungent,
With the scents of a violent lust.

Quaff the crimson from my veins,
Suckle at the jugular nectar,
For I shall bide in these chains
As a bloodless and pallid white specter.

On this algid brumal night
She gazed so tenderly at me
With a stark and petrifying glare.
For on this eve of eldritch scare
Her eyes have swallowed all the light,
As she set the shadows to roam free.

The goddess of the dark and grim
She fiercely rules the gloomy murk.
Commanding all the nightly devils,
As in sacrilege and death she revels,
On witching hours drab and dim,
When the crows and ravens chirk.

Great murky tides so viciously flailed,
Clawing and gnawing at the grey rugged shore,
Washing up remnants of an ill-fated sail,
The coastline now littered with ruin and gore.

Bloated dead mariners scattered about,
Their ribcages open and nested by gulls,
Pecking at entrails as blood gently spouts,
Staining with crimson the ship's shattered hull.

The billows shall swallow the barnacled bones,
Crushing them into Poseidon's cursed sand,
Creating new coastlines in foggy unknowns,
Waiting for other doomed sailors to land.

Awakening me from my idle and doze
The skiff began rocking with every great billow,
When all of a sudden a maiden arose
With the tresses of a bronze-drenched willow.

Her pale white visage shone lunar light,
Reflecting on her body of shimmering scales.
She rivaled the moon on this stygian night,
Spattering water with her forked turquoise tail.

Then was I dragged into the depths of the sea,
Grasped by her glacial yet placid embrace.
I surrendered on attempting to set myself free.
The barnacled seabed is my true-destined place.

I contentedly leer
From the heavenly heights
Of own crucifixion
At the fiery end times below

It is I who have uttered
So tenderly hushed
These depraved maledictions
For carnage is what I bestow

A distant death knell tolls,
So deafening yet meek.
I wonder where the steeple is,
In this meadow dry and bleak.

Trailing shallow footprints,
Trudging in the withered grass,
Ears ringing from the bell,
I have reached the church at last.

A lone skeletal framework
Holding up the wretched knell,
Swaying through the murky skies.
What dread and glee shall it foretell?

The everlasting scorching sting of the scourge
Scarlet globules cascade like autumn rain

With the whistling whip my flesh shall merge
I shall revel in the fiery delight of this pain

Every luscious lash leaves its sacred imprint
Adorning the skin with the symbols of zeal

Yet it is not in the name of divinity’s glint
But rather a flaring fire which very few feel

Like a stray mongrel with its tail set ablaze
I shall forever be led by agonizing gratification

Enchanted by a hypnotic hot-blooded haze
A cycle of sensational pain and painful sensation