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Marc Bolan and T. Rex Miscellaneous The Mage Aznageel Aznageel.... Woven deep beneath the caves of melted steel Stalks a Mage, a necromancer heel Tortured runic clasps of Aztecetian skill The condor flies scared skies in search of Aznageel Below the sun is withered weasel scurries deep The streams of doom contrive to kiss his sculptured feet. His raven legs all churned and ruined through towers of pride Above the sun the princely guardian condor flies. A beauty ruby fain its worth twelve lives or more. he stammers as he slugs ever the staggered floor A chilled moment his dolphin eyes maul jewels of war. O joy! The sunlit condor unearths Aznageel's door. |
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