Twilight Breath of Satan

The freshly interred corpse
Greets with a rotten fragrance
Sweet scent of death and decay
Caressing the catacomb
Ghastly face of bone
Where her smile had been
Ravished while she lived
Desecrated in death
Twisted thoughts, necrolust
What she had best to offer
Is now but a blackened hole
No more pleasures of flesh
Sick memories are stirring
Through a black looking — glass
Deep in the demented mind
She still laughs with joy
One final graven kiss
From her imaginary lips
Tormented chattering
Echoes in the dark
Her bones and a shotgun
Laid on the wooden table
Both barrels full of Satan’s breath
For the last twilight rite