rise of the pentagram - cradle of filth

One dark afternoon
Like a shadow I flew
Through the rain that fell sick with lament
To this house of incest
For when we undressed
Blasphemies against Venus were rent
Though her sister removed
Her white body approved
The barade of my heavenly quests
Yet, all tongues are not true
Some are forked or askew
Like an uncivil serpent’s at best
For ousted from Eden
I fausted all reason
Hook in mouth like Saint Peter Pan
To horned fairy groves
And hot virgin coves
Where in the promiscuous swam
I elected lovers and rejected others
Mathistrises that don’t give a damn
But for those that still do
My deep interest grew
The rise of the true pentagram!