Xasthur - Loss and Inner Distortion

Pricked as a Witch Her stitches itch
For familiar lips to lick them dry
Whilst the dark regrasps, for if She asks
The Sun forsakes the rite to rise
And is the first to discern, that this Angel's return
Is a vengefull call on grace
For even martyrdom backs from it's suicide pacts
A leap of twisted fate betrayed...

The scars will last until the stars
Caught in Her train bewitched
Fall into line and yeild the sign
That Dawn in born to their eclipse

For Our Inhumankind
Comes an underdog day Sunrise
Rippling with fire llike femaledition...