Turning Point

Prepare those magical mystic rites.
We look away from the holy heights
and offer worship to the darkest lord
of all untold, of a kingdom below.

Lucifer lives, yet plays with death.
Head of horns, blackened breast.
A toast of blood, passed round the ring.
Together as one, to the devil we sing.

The altar draped in sheer red silk.
With two black candles, a silver sword.
An unholy effigy, marked and maimed.
Our faces painted, our souls unashamed.

Then a curse is aimed from heavens high.
Judgment brought, retribution nigh.
Entombed in hell, through fire we burn.
No help from hades. We live and learn!

1972, April


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