Opium Tar

  • Asleep in the Deep Perfume Oil

    Many brave hearts are asleep in the deep so beware! Beware!
    What of the storm when the night is o’er? There is no trace or sign!
    Save where the wreckage hath strewn the shore, peaceful the sun doth shine.
    But when the wild raging storm did cease, under the billows two hearts found peace.
    No more to part, no more of pain, the bell may now toll its warning in vain.

    Loudly the bell in the old tower rings
    Biding us list to the warning it brings.
    Sailor take care! Sailor take care!
    Danger is near thee, beware! Beware!
    Beware! Beware!

    A hymn to all who sleep beneath the waves. Sailor beware! A lightless abyss of black plum, sea salt, opium tar accord, labdanum, and indigo benzoin.

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  • Evil Perfume Oil

    Smouldering opium tar, tobacco absolute, green tea, black plum, kush, ambergris accord, ambrette seed, and costus root.

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    La Roue de Malheur Hair Gloss

    Red musk, blackened patchouli, opium tar, inky oudh, champaca flower, pomegranate pulp, frankincense, and tobacco.

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  • Our Lady of Pain

    Our Lady of Pain Perfume Oil

    Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel

    Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour;

    The heavy white limbs, and the cruel

    Red mouth like a venomous flower;

    When these are gone by with their glories,

    What shall rest of thee then, what remain,

    O mystic and sombre Dolores,

    Our Lady of Pain?

     

    Sumatran patchouli, blood musk, white lavender, opium tar, and black orchid.

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    Shelley, Byron, and Keats Perfume Oil

    Uncompromising idealism, haunted romanticism, fatal ennui, and a heady amount of scandal and vice: red roses and pale carnation with a draught of laudanum, smears of opium tar, a hint of absinthe, and mercury ointment.

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    Stormclouds Over the Midway Perfume Oil

    In your smoke-addled confusion, the Midway seems strangely empty and devoid of life. The tents that line the path appear distorted, out of proportion, and cartoonish, their angles arching menacingly.

    For a moment, the only sound you hear is the soft squelch of your boots on the damp ground. As your eyes adjust, the tents right themselves, the sounds of the Midway swirl around you, and you feel the press of the crowd against your body. The Calliope’s eerie drone lilts above the swelling chatter.

    Wine-colored storm clouds are gathering, and the scent of incense and ozone is thick in the wet air.

    Thunder-charged ozone, plum-colored incense smoke, opium tar, and wormwood.

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