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#317 Darkness incarnate



Nightingales sang of tragedy
Whispers were made of blasphemy
Vain, insane, this brute aloof
Drew tainted veils over bitter truth

The stairs ran helter-skelter
His bedchamber besieged
By phantoms who sheltered
In it's furs, remorse
Sought to overwhelm him
Like a lantern of disease
That shone on rotten faces
Of those murdered out in force

Darkness incarnate

By Cradle of Filth


Post je objavljen 30.04.2009. u 07:54 sati.