Blood From The Roots Of The Fo-Nortt

Elizabeth christened, no paler a rose Grew so dark as this sylph None more cold in repose Yet Her beauty spun webs Round hearts a glance would betroth She feared the light So when She fell like a sinner to vice Under austere, puritanical rule She sacrificed... Mandragora like virgins to rats in the wall But after whipangels licked prisoners, thralled Never were Her dreams so maniacally cruel (And possessed of such delights) For ravens winged Her nightly flights Of erotica Half spurned from the pulpit Torments to occur Half learnt from the cabal of demons In Her Her walk went to voodoo To see Her own shadow adored At mass without flaw Though inwards She abhored Not Her coven of suitors But the stare of their Lord!