Blood the moon in blackest night,
does greet the raven’s cry.
Darkness bears its wicked call,
to this deep and empty sky.
Sorrow rings the call of death,
no other sound now heard.
Beckoned to the last lament,
of this heinous wretched bird.
Beams excite this dance of thieves,
bones beat the skin of drums.
Writhing in the fertile drink,
tankards pour red velvet ***.
Flames twisting in the winds of rage,
scream the woeful song.
Sacred are the nocturnal beasts,
to gather in this throng.
Chieftain of the danse macabre,
to lead them from the grave.
To interject gross loyalty,
as the devil’s most ****** slave.
