Sunday, July 25

When night falls and winds cease to blow
I begin my lucubration, studying slow.
I formulate my alchemical aims
While with boiling blood I intone the names
of forsaken rebel angels in Hell,
Now facing south and tolling its knell.
In my younger years I had compunction
But now I'm old, I care only for function.
Azazel, Beelzebub and Satan
Are the Great Old Ones, below forever?
Whose shades I summon, whilst all ties I sever
With the people of this world.

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