"Mirror, mirror on the wall
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Shouldst not grave pleasures be my all?
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For if I shall see thy Will be done
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Grant Me the Witchcraft of thy tongue"
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Three moondials froze in the shadow of six
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As another soul passed to the grasping Styx
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Clutching their trinket crucifix
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Bats blew from caves in a dissonant surge
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Omens of corruption from within the church
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A fetid, dank oasis still clung to fool rebirth
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Alone as a stone cold altar
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The castle and its keep
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Like faerytale dominion rose
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A widow to the snow peaks
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Wherein reclined the Countess
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Limbs purring from the kill
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Bathed in virgin white and like the night
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Alive and young and unfulfilled
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Was it the cry of a wolf
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That broke the silver thread of enchanted thoughts?
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Of Her life as a mere reflection
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(As the moon's in narrow windows caught)
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That opened like dark eyelids on
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The sigh of the woods that the wind fell upon
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Like a Siren weaving song
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From the lilt of choirs choking
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Where the vengeful dead
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Belong...
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To the Sorceress and Her charnel arts
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She swept from ebon towers at the hour of Mars
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'Neath a star-inwoven sky latticed by scars
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To unbind knotted reins that kept in canter, despair
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Shod on melancholy, fleet to sanctuary there,
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In netherglades tethered where onyx idols stared
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Was it the Kiss of the mist
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That peopled the air with the prowess of absinthe?
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Lost souls begging resurrection
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From Gods upon their forest plinths
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Whose epitaphs read of re-ascending to win
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Remission from despair through a holocaust of sin
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In a tongue hilted in invective rectums
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Over signs and seals the sorceress prayed
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To Death, to rend the slender veil
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That Ancient Ones might rise again
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As shadows swelled
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The Countess fell
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To masturbating with Her dagger
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As the Witch gabbled spells
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Cumming heavy roses all the way to Hell
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As sudden thunder's grue harangue
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Announced two pincered worlds
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Exuding bane, something came
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With the stench of necrophiled graves
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To these clandestines
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Who shrank from glimpsing horror
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That the growls of mating houls inclined...
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Resplendent
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In pendants
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(Natal trophies torn from bellies of desanctified nuns)
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A demons, bewinged, bedight
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In scum, prowled their circle seeking entry to run
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An arctic tongue upon Her vulva
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Where rubies smeared to alabaster thighs
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Glittered like a contract in the purse of a whore
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Receiving sole communion from the body of christ
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"If blood is what thou craves, foul fiend
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I will yield this witch to thee
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If thou wouldst draw a veil for Me
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O'er lengthening scars of age and grief"
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As the Demon slavered foetid vows
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And bore His prey away
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In talons itching to perpetrate
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The nausea of eternal rape
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The Sorceress screaming in His grasp
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Spat a final curse to stain
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The Countess with the promise
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That Her lord at war would be cruelly slain
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And She would rot.
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Alone
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Insane.
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On the twisted nails of faith.
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-----------------
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The Twisted Nails Of Faith
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Cradle Of Filth |