The living skull of the necromancer Spits forth baroque twisted truths Like a dead electrified tissue Of a scattered religious spirit Worm-seals of binding spells Weaved in the icons of a thanatotrope Reflected through a funeral spectrum That was once found in a necropolis Cosmic wounds sculped on cadavers Exhumation of eternal enigma That lurks in the haunted cells Of the hermetic nectar of the dead Like a self-devouring snake in flames Painted on the magic epitaph That holds for all the little mortal souls The gentle master, black angel azrael
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