$4.60 – $19.75
A scent aflame with rage, swirling in the red haze of hatred: dragon’s blood spiked with black pepper, clove, and cinnamon.
Sin and Salvation
The Seven Deadly Sins
PERFUME OIL BLENDS
Presented in an amber apothecary vial.
– June 12, 2016
A masculine, yummy smell. I bought it for my husband, whose a baked goods fiend and it was the first perfume I gave him that he actually wears without being asked. The cinnamon is the strongest smell, but the dragons blood adds it’s own floral notes, mostly detectable to those sensitive to those scents.
– June 16, 2015
I love the aroma but it fades too fast; there should be a smoke aroma added, however. Something like ash. Also, the red pepper aroma should be emphasized, even to the expense of cinnamon. Anyone can buy cinnamon oil cheaply.
Otherwise, I love it dearly. Expensive cinnamon oil, but loved.
– April 5, 2015
When applied I smell straight cinnamon, but with the sweet smell of the dragon’s blood coming out as well. The fragrance is energy packed with a crisp bite which makes it forceful and demanding. For me the clove came out in the dry down with the dragon’s blood receding a tad. Absolutely smells and looks (with the red hue) of bottled wrath.
– April 4, 2015
Odd that this hasn’t been reviewed yet I purchased a few different imps and this is by far my favorite. Its warm, fiery and soothing the cinnamon note last the longest. With all of the scent notes combined I feel as if I have a warm aura of heat around me at all times
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A cautious, watchful scent: earthy, dry fig, black pepper, nutmeg, and black plum tea.
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed-
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean-
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today-O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home-
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay-
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.
O, let America be America again-
The land that never has been yet-
And yet must be-the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine-the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME-
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose-
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath-
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain-
All, all the stretch of these great green states-
And make America again!
– Langston Hughes
O, let America be America again – the land that never has been yet: waving green grasses, purple-hued amber, smoked sandalwood, bay rum, clove bud, cardamom, and black pepper.
The third mate’s name was Morgan
By God he was a gorgon
From half past eight he played till late
Upon the captain’s organ
The rest of the lyrics are too bawdy for me to post outside of a Lupercalia warning.
Salt-crusted wooden planks warmed by cardamom, 7-year aged patchouli, tonka bean, mace, and black pepper.
The second of the visitors, a tall man, the one he had thought of as a wolf, his gray and black hair cut bristle-short, stood a little behind his friend, holding a stack of photocopies to his chest. He had said nothing until this moment—just waited, huge and impassive. Now he laughed, once, low and dirtily. There was something unhealthy about that laugh.
Dark and gangly, with a glint of razor-sharp stainless steel behind it: opopponax, costus, black pepper, black sandalwood, and polished metal.