When sorrow strikes
And the Sun hides
Causing in my putrid soul
A pestilent abscess of sickness and perversion.
When but solitude accompanies me
I play in my head
Symphonies of evil.

As with this resplendent knife
I tear my pale skin.
I kiss Death’s breasts
Afterwards
Stick my serpent tongue
In her dead cold cunt
She kisses my crimson lips
And stares at the covetous stars
And the macabre night
That dwells inside these flaming pupils.

In R´lyeh
I found a heart-shaped rune
Written in odd languages
Letters scrawled
By hideous marine monsters
That came from the sky, beyond
Dagon… An Esoteric Dogma
Oh God!
When sadness impales my core
I cannot think of anything,
But eternal insanity and darkness.

In dreams,
Tall and slender women
Stab their poisonous fangs.
The stench of fish is unbearable.
When all hope is lost
And my sweet feelings fall to pieces
I always blame God,
For this damn suffering.

At bedtime,
Torments penetrate my head
Like I am cleansing uncommitted crimes
Behind the ardent bars
Of Hell’s Dungeons.
On well…
I have been there… Yes.
I stood there for so long time
I find myself cursed again
Imprisoned in the underworld,
In its dark deep pits,
Tearing roses
And counting their black petals
Like ripping crow feathers

She loves me
She loves me not…
I profaned the whole garden
Only to find out
The answer of life is hatred.

Adrift is this vessel
Waiting to sink
Into the Maelstrom,
The wet black abyss

Oh! Graceful angel
Take my bones
And lay a throne for yourself
With a view to the end of the world

Innocent deliciousness is a gown
It veils the strongest
And most savage lust
A living thing can resist
And I, I cannot resist her
Mother of depravity
Aline… Whore

Brown big eyes,
Like the wood of pines
Deliciously tubby
White like snow
And short as a puerile seraph
Red mouth like scarlet
Small breasts I can grasp
With my evil hands.

Beneath her skirt
I have seen something
Beautiful and succulent
Innocent face with a rosy flush
In which glows
The most pleasant candidness.

God never gave form before
To such a beautiful creature
She is the polished sickle
That slashes my decaying fiend’s carcass
On the right hand.

On the left
She draws a rusted scythe
Which tears my chest
And infects it so quickly
At the same time.

The Ripper is her,
My prison
Decrescendo of bliss’s melody
When the church bell chimes
And those fiends congregate
To plan my destruction
I hide in safe corners
But the burning blaze
Of full moon
Leaves me devoid of all safety,
Tonight,
I shall become
Everything the world feared and abhorred.