Entry 67: Song Of The Incubus

by in Horror, Lust, Poetry, Song, Writing and tagged , , , ,

I’m inside your head

I whisper in your ear

I’m your repressed desires you claim to withhold

I’m slowly clawing in your mind

You are moaning as I speak

I’ll have you down on your knees

Oh, but I’m not talking for praying

I corrupt the innocent

I defile those who claim innocence

With one sweet push I will become your sin

You will give in to all your temptation and corruption within

Thrusting harder now you begin to scream

Screaming in pure ecstasy

The only words from your mouth are the passionate moans of a fallen angel

One who once claimed to serve a God

Now the only thing you worship is me and the thing throbbing between your knees!

I will make you lose faith

Corrupt everything you hold claim to

All the while I will ride you all night

I assure you it will be to your pleasure and your delight!

Do not make a mistake, this invite is not only for the ladies

Though my present steed is a nun who claimed God

I will just as happily corrupt a priest named Rob

I will plant my seed where ever I please

Though if I wish to impregnate

A woman I will need

Sometimes though I’m in it simply for the sweet pleasure

Of seeing another soul become mine eternally!

I am the darkness you so claim to hate

Your holier than thou facade doesn’t fool me at all

In the end you will moan, you will suck, you will give everything up

You will worship me

Humanities nature is sin

Don’t try and act like you don’t like what you see

You are human and soon I will own thee!

-Song Of The Incubus-

 

15 thoughts on “Entry 67: Song Of The Incubus”

  3. I really like that. Here is one, similarish, Nick Caves – Red Right Hand – Take a little walk to the edge of town
    Go across the tracks
    Where the viaduct looms,
    like a bird of doom
    As it shifts and cracks
    Where secrets lie in the border fires,
    in the humming wires
    Hey man, you know
    you’re never coming back
    Past the square, past the bridge,
    past the mills, past the stacks
    On a gathering storm comes
    a tall handsome man
    In a dusty black coat with
    a red right hand

    He’ll wrap you in his arms,
    tell you that you’ve been a good boy
    He’ll rekindle all the dreams
    it took you a lifetime to destroy
    He’ll reach deep into the hole,
    heal your shrinking soul
    But there won’t be a single thing
    That you can do.
    He’s a god, he’s a man,
    he’s a ghost, he’s a guru
    They’re whispering his name
    through this disappearing land
    But hidden in his coat
    is a red right hand

    You ain’t got no money?
    He’ll get you some
    You ain’t got no car?
    He’ll get you one
    You ain’t have no self-respect,
    you feel like an insect
    Well don’t you worry buddy,
    cause here he comes
    Through the ghettos and the barrio
    and the bowery and the slum
    A shadow is cast wherever he stands
    Stacks of green paper in his
    red right hand

    You’ll see him in your nightmares,
    you’ll see him in your dreams
    He’ll appear out of nowhere but
    he ain’t what he seems
    You’ll see him in your head,
    on the TV screen
    And hey buddy, I’m warning
    you to turn it off
    He’s a ghost, he’s a god,
    he’s a man, he’s a guru
    You’re one microscopic cog
    in his catastrophic plan
    Designed and directed by
    his red right hand

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