The living skull of the necromancer

Spits forth baroque twisted truths

Like a dead electrified tissue

Of a scattered religious spirit

Worm-seals of binding spells

Weaved in the icons of a thanatotrope

Reflected through a funeral spectrum

That was once found in a necropolis

Cosmic wounds sculped on cadavers

Exhumation of eternal enigma

That lurks in the haunted cells

Of the hermetic nectar of the dead

Like a self-devouring snake in flames

Painted on the magic epitaph

That holds for all the little mortal souls

The gentle master, black angel azrael