Xasthur - Moon Shrouded In Misery

Resplendent...
In pendants...
(Natal trophies torn from bellies of desanctified nuns)
A demons, bewinged, bedight
In scum, prowled their circle seeking entry to run
An arctic tongue upon Her vulva
Where rubies smeared to alabaster thighs
Glittered like a contract in the purse of a whore
Receiving sole communion from the body of christ

"If blood is what thou carves, foul fiend
I will yield this witch to thee
If thou wouldst draw a veil for Me
O'er lengthening scars of age and grief"