Temptress Luna

And she rides the never world of her own majestic mountain. And
 remembering the snow and the demons, she flies... Across a
 scarlet forever, with a shimmering more divine. The witches ride
 the sabbat, just a breeze across her path. The breath of unborn
 gods blows in her hair, and she runs to meet the night. Against
 the shallow consecration of the spiders sigh, drinking the silver
 through her veins, a starry sanguine alive. She can't ever come
 down, ever come back, she's not here. A pitiful lust of the
 common, clawing at her, screaming, but only you can see her. She
 dances the pentagram ablaze, lit like the fire of hell.
 Spontaneous and natural, the kundalini of the soul. Come into my
 parlour, the temptress red, the blood of the moon washing to
 cleanse of death.
 An anthem requiem for the refuge of the souls, the chosen come.
 The willowy silence of the grave, the sight of the new time, the
 tombs damp and waiting like the serpents of the earth.
 Quiet lucid sighing, a gateway like no other, deep and dark and
 mystic in the lure of the ending. Monstrous halls of her mind, a
 labyrinth dark, consuming nothing and creating the web. An abyss
 of sorrow, weeping in the battles of ghouls and laughter, run to
 penetrate the storm. She comes like the new death, the lost
 transformation, the circle of the dimension invisible. And her
 consciousness passes between rats, biting between traps, she
 wants it no more. Forever knowing above the height of the wind,
 the view of the nightshade differs, as the moon fires the path
 silent. She rides her own majesty. Quiet lucid sighing, gateway
 like no other, deep and dark and mystic in the lure of the ending
 But as the sun dies with forever, her crown grows evermore.