Glorification

On this night of a depressive autumnUnder branches of these old treesOn this hour thy sign I glorifyBlack flame of Satan in my heartFog is rising from the murky watersCarrying the stench of the swampAn owl is hooting, sounding afarAs melancholy takes a gripI drink the blood of a virgin childFrom an old golden flaskIn my mind the Countess of CachticeAnd the memory of terror she spreadBitter words utter from my lipsIncantations of reincarnationWith the blood thy sign I glorifyWaking instincts of a wolfI am finding strength in the hateMisanthropic burning woundsAs much as I hate the human pigsSo I hate the flesh of my own