Angel Singet
Bind I thee Azazel strong with linen weaved for burns your time not now so long as at last man death now yearns for step by step the fallen wings flap in unison no more and confused becomes your stings and your lengthy recipes a bore your heroes choking in your smoke your fire now but only dim and soon enough you’ll be the joke of midnight stories scarcely grim farewell old fiend in the dark there is no place for you in Edens’ park Sign in to see full entry.