Given to crescent moon Chaldean echoes of
spectral gloom Like a pen pal of the gods No horns no reply Flowers of sorcery Like pearls before the swine Defying space
and time Sez the pineal gland of mine Like, Given to dreaming witchesī lie Itīs sweet to close your weary eyes Given
to pentacles and more Drunk with the blood
of the whore Gimme some Metatron Damn
my immortal soul But show me something that
I donīt know Gimme some Metatron Given
to waning moon Septuagint whispers of
impending doom Cautes and Cautopates A
shit load of bad ass deities Wore out my
shovel Burying monsters where they popped
up And itīs OK Doesnīt matter anyway For Babalon above For Babalon below Gimme some Metatron
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