Dimera
de Burn The Priest
With just a flick of the opal banded finger
I will throw you into a
concentric mental decline.
I control your elation,
I control your depression.
I take as
I wish memory, clothed in a raiment noir.
(I take you
under my black wing.)
I take you under my dark wing and nurture you in hate
to dwell forever in a Maison Blanche.
Purity through corruption, who am
I to blame when your basest instincts are realized?
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