Cradle Of Filth - Born in a Burial Gown

Sibilant and macabre Walpurgis sauntered in Skies litten with five-pointed stars The work of crafts surpassing sin As She graced Her window ledge - An orphaned gypsy nymph This issue of the forest's bed Skin flushed with sipped absinthe - Her eyes revealed, as Brocken's peak Tried once concealing Hell A snow white line of divine freaks In riot, where they fell... The circus lurches in, a ring of promised delight For seven days and seven festival nights What wicked wonders lie within the comfines Of the panther's den She watches from a maypole, on the rip of Her tongue The restless spirit of Christmas to come A Gretel sick of merely sucking Her thumb Than gingerbread men Spawned scorned, abhorred by the aerial She was the light of the world going down War-torn, forlorn and malarial She was found Born in a burial gown Unloosed, the chain of Her god-given cross Seduced, now pagan ribbons swathe Her repose In a carnival of souls sold and similarly lost Too many decades misfit and mislaid In innocence, a tender legend of prey Parades Her second coming, now they're running afraid Spawned scorned, abhorred by the aerial She was the light of the world going down War-torn, forlorn and malarial She was found Born in a burial gown Now She moves with a predator's guile Beyond the firelit circle of life She soothes your cold heart for a while Then matches its beat, synching in with a knife She wrestles Her dreams with a delicate case Espied by Her cross on the wall And should She awake, through embrace or mistake She would take Jesus Bless foot forward and all... Sibiliant and at last The circus crawled away With another lover in its arms Dancing on Her grave...