Ah! How morbid the dance Of spectres and phantoms Carried by the wings of night And their shadows Macabre in the flickering light Of the torch placed upon The brow of our Idol Whose image we adore Praised be the blood That fill our sacred kapala Laden with lunar energies From the horned moon above Whose rays illuminate our path And charge the sigils Carved into our altar As keys of the Black Arts (Poetry: HBM Azazil)