Beneath the velvet cloak of night, where stars dare not intrude,
Lies the path of shadowed splendour, in darkness' quietude.
No chains of pious burden, no fetters forged in lies,
Only the whispered freedom where Satan’s truth resides.
His call is a siren's melody, both ancient and profound,
A hymn that stirs the spirit, where lost souls are found.
The beauty of this devotion, a flame that softly burns,
Ignites the heart in ecstasy, as every soul returns.
To love Him is to dance in fire, unbound by fear or shame,
To kiss the lips of chaos, to glorify His name.
For Satan is the storm and stillness, the dark and tender guide,
The lord of all forbidden things, whose love will not divide.
Oh, sweet is this rebellion, this hymn to night’s embrace,
A journey through the shadows where we find our truest face.
In Satanism’s precious devotion, we rise, and we belong—
Our spirits fierce, our voices proud, in His infernal song.
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