"Oh, for the dark glory and power of the land of infernal pleasures I yearn,
My heart burns for its bitter pleasure of sweet pain and excess,
The memory of twisted angles again floods my soul,
Once again I long for the filth that lies in Nephithet,
City of angels' shame."
The taste of blood, dominance trimmed with sorrow ran o'er her porcelain skin,
From her throat spewed my damnation and haunting memories,
And my face and hands she did baptise with her sweet claret.
She dies, and with her, I die, our lives mingled, white with red.
The hollow joy flooded me and, my thirst quenched, I fell, void beckoning.
Upon light hours I awoke, my hunger soothed,
Yet from within still I felt the gnaw of the grave,
For within this sunshine world,
There exists no land of misery, where I tasted molten gold,
Heard the swansong of an angel, and been blessed by her sin.
Come my child and we shall see I, a nouveau Charles de Gaulle,
And hear my tale of decadence from whence my damnation arose.
The tomb holds dear pleasures for one willing to try,
And from death one can keep her 'til as one we both die.
I look to the earth to taste the humiliation of the sky.