Vārdi: Cradle Of Filth. Swansong For A Raven.

Forgive the day's last serenades
Her skies they bruise like Nordic women
Deep crimson stains that death would claim
His robes of office swim him in

As would I for his dark eye
Has fixed, a basilisk, a scythe
On charred remains with shared disdain
For those I chose to mortify

Their cries have paralyzed
And the smoke has choked these vistas
But still I lie though tears have dried
On the grave of my Clarissa

A verse for her whispered to the earth
A lover's curse is a see-through coffin
Praises her curves so oft concurred
Though she was no snow white on the night she died
Her shadower?s boon when the moon glazed over
Lipped with blood and secrets pried

For on and in they spread her wide
That seraph bride the Devil?s pride
Shalt soon avenge with swift reprise

But they would writhe for my dark eye
Bewitched, was fixed like Mordecai?s
On Esther?s reign and in this vein
I saw their lust still stain her thighs

Their cries have paralyzed
And the smoke has choked these vistas
But still I lie though tears have dried
On the grave of my Clarissa

Beneath these trees where the mist enwreathes
Her spirit flees, seeing chains of torches
A fleeting kiss stirring leaves of poetry
I was no dark knight, breaking men like ice
I was like a lycanthrope until the moon glazed over
Lipped with blood and last goodbyes

Now I dream enwrapt in pure clouds of the sweetest oblivion
Where beauty streams freed from the teeth
Of those beasts that had come
To tear out her spells in red lettered cells
Wherein even the crown prince of Hell
Come out of his arrogant shell would falter to better

But her face soon dispels and as black feathers fell
From heaven?s smoke so I woke to insanity
Her exquisite corpse found fit for their sport
Of course would burn on the morrow with me

And there on this night strung up in my sight
Naked she sways displayed for their vulgar delight
I scream through my bars at the stars
That for these crimes of mine solace me

I will fear not the flames that to passion are tame
Not nearly the same searing pain, I pray
As held sway upon losing her nor the mettle of roars
That will settle like ashes and scores
As with our ghosts in the fog when we both turn no more