Encircled by black candles,
I began the incantation tonight,
With my bladed consort,
Feeling her soft kiss,
From wrist to chelidon,
Leaving pools of mana on the altar,
Amidst chants of grunting pain,
Casting the magic,
Releasing the wine,
Just ripe for the showpieces of the damned,
Finger painting on the walls,
Pinot in the chalices,
There is such art in this sorcery,
Haemoglobin,
Cruor,
Lifeblood,
And the dramatic flair of it all,
The ultimate form of magic.
Before a vital spark can be buried deep,
It must be cleansed,
A soul given its best chance in the hereafter,
So call forth the sin-eater,
This soul worker will consume each lick of evil,
A feast at a funeral,
An ivory plate placed upon the husk,
Bread and grapes and coins pressed into cheese,
A glass of wine to wash down the sins,
The ritual cleanses the dead with knife and fork,
With each bite the deceased soul feels purer,
A spirit growing lighter,
Sanitised,
Absolved,
Saved.
WorldofHarley 