Storming from tired centuries Under the glare of a waxing death-moon Terrible beauty of love severed Rip the baby from the virginal womb The blood of Jesus Is the wine of the dead And the drunken angels Bleed with incest The Liliot suckle on Her fruitful breasts And yield the swords that sever and stain There will be no act or passion wrought That shall not be attributed to Her names!