Born in a Burial Gown - Cradle Of Filth

Sibilant and macabre

Wallpurgis 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 confines

Of the panther’s den

She watches from a maypole, on the tip of Her tongue

The restless spirit of a Christmas to come

A Gretel sick of merely sucking Her thumb

Of gingerbread men

Spawned scorned, abhored 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, abhored 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 it beat, sinking in with a knife

She wrestles Her dreams with a delicate ease

Espied by the cross on the wall

And should she awake, through embrace or mistake

She would take jesus

Blest foot forward and all…

Sibilant and at last

The circus crawled away

With another lover in it’s arms

Dancing on Her grave…