Vespertine Decay

At the stroke of twelve
I feel alive
I was born with the birthmark of cinders
Wreaking havoc through
The torment growing within me
Heresy, vespertine decay
Mere tools for my needs, with every inch deep
A corpus delicti of the worst kind
Necrotic excavation for erotic deformations
I was born with the birthmark of cinders
Wreaking havoc through
The torment growing within me
Depravity, vespertine decay
As the casket creaks
My morbid fascination becomes real
The flavor of dead meat, true pleasure divine
As nostalgia grows — prophecies foretold
Nourishment of perversity deep within me
A cavernous exaltation
Decency bereft, grotesqueries untold
Exquisite stench of dead flesh a perfume
A malodorous banquet
Six feet deep
My morbid fascination becomes real
Fresh cold cuts at my feet
For my pulsating meat
Cold touch, sweet lust
Thy innocence lost with every thrush
A vulgar humiliation
Sinner in the hands of a dirty god
Let me prey
As nostalgia grows — prophecies foretold
Nourishment of perversity deep within me
A cavernous exaltation
Decency bereft, grotesqueries untold
Exquisite stench of dead flesh a perfume
A malodorous banquet
Stroke of twelve
I feel alive — oh sweet vespertine decay
Morbid depravity — I worship death
Erotic insanity — faith unrestrained
Morbid depravity, embracing apathy
Erotic lunacy, with brute force
Cold touch, sweet lust
Thy innocence lost with every thrust
A vulgar humiliation
Corrupt the corpse with every breath
Heresy, without hesitation
Sinner in the hands of a dirty god
Let me prey
Sinner in the hands of a dirty god
Let me prey