Do What Thou Wilt
by Michael Doyle

The young Jimmy Page wore his guitarist crown
Playing the only thing that never got him down
He was never one to live life overly uptight
But he has lived life with a voracious appetite

It's a thing of feelings and sonic intensity
Not overthought or wrought, music is spontaneity
That is shared through the moments it is played
And it is driven by the virtuosity he has displayed

Lured into another world, lost in a type of trance
The guitarist is lured in by the beat of a gypsy's dance
Pulled in by a sordid angel, unable to fix a broken wing
The strings do their magic, unleashing the serpent's sting

Boleskine House has long been a place of dark imagination
Where long ago, a wizard used necromancy for reanimation
Then, later, Aleister Crowley turned another unholy page
Pursing the sacred magic operations of Abramelin the Mage

Crowley invoked an unholy guardian angel without remorse
Allowing in two demons never returned and with such force
As to cause a bevy of black magic experiments to get out of hand
None of this going quite exactly as Aleister had planned

Page was fascinated with Crowley's intrinsic sort of ramble
Fascinated with the unknown, he undertook his Boleskine gamble
Feeling that only ordinary people sought ordinary morality
Page sought to pursue his natural instincts in their totality

One must never fear knowledge wherever this might lead
Every dirty act was just another sacramental deed
The restriction of every sin was seen only as treachery
While others fight on drunk, seeking magic and lechery

To be a disciple is to renounce all sense of family ties
Baphomet, the Androgyne, is the father of Thoth's lies
God and Satan struggle for the death of one's sacred self
The Book of the Serpent is learned from on sin's shelf

Vultures gather to feast on the flesh of one's desolation
Having denied God, we have only the lifeless separation
Magick became the central factor of the adept's life
Where its comprehension and application have brought strife

In this Hell, each star knows there are no standards of right
Absinthe purges away purity for the blackness of night
Its ruin and degradation stimulate a particular sort of Hell
Making one with the angels, once in Heaven, yet have they fell

Do what thou wilt is the whole of Satan's dirty law
Each person is a star as long as the darkness calls
Every change is to be made with the conformity of one's will
Dancing on the pinhead of doubt bleeds itself from a quill

(c) October 5, 2024   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved