Cradle Of Filth

Praeclarum
Custodem
Ovium
Lupum
All Saints Day, the taint of rain
Blood and mud and thunder all the same
To those who close their ranks to Gille's men
Bricqueville, Prelati and De Sille
Creatures of the dark creeping up and down the countryside
Brittle angels out to pasture once again
Torture garden rules of thumb apply
To sacred flesh and the naked eye
Golgothic this erotica
Stinking of honey and worse, sulphur
So black was the magic in this tragical kingdom
That the superstitions grew
Wise to the wolves that surprised their children
Gagged in sacks and dragged back to
Tiffauges
It's roads now home to a beautiful stranger
Lifting her veil
Spinning her lies
Tender eyes, never-ending danger
It grows
A rose that chose death for it's bedmuck
Prickles in wait
Thanking her spies
Trickling thighs her only hiccup
And though she walks the forest trails
She's far from innocent or frail
She leads them down the path where darkness dwells
That night is rife with celebration