Beloved child of Lucifer's tempest,
Do you see now how far you have fallen?
Creation of the angels strapped to a corrupted cross,
Legs firmly parted, arms splayed;
Evil is daunting, and utterly unafraid.

You are not what anyone thought you would be,
Never a hurricane but a voiceless whisper
Offering submission and taking control without even a sound.
You are not what anyone thought you would be,
You have been here before, eyes a maelstrom of pleading,
Pleasure and pain meld into one, giving birth to a child.
She is named Victory, and she shall rule the world
Through you. 

Beloved child of Lucifer's tempest,
Were I but a humble priestess I would condemn you,
Only to begrudgingly worship the wine-red blood
Staining the porcelain flesh of the devil-whore-martyr you've become.
The stinging lash of the whip weakens the body and strengthens the soul,
Admiration is your unholy communion and desire an innocent game,
One you steadfastly proclaim not to understand,
Your arousal a conception far from immaculate as destruction becomes
Emboldened rebirth. 

It is sacrilege, I know;
Your sins will erase themselves in the light of tomorrow,
A virgin inspiring flawlessly erotic worship
Again, and again,
While the rest of the world atones and bends on broken knees
Screaming for purification.

Beloved child of Lucifer's tempest,
Through you, the entirety of Heaven and Earth shall fall.