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Necromanteion

Diabolos Rising

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