Cradle Of Filth - The Nun With The Astral Habit - GTP табы

The world was her cloister, the abbess Duboir 
In the convent at All Hallows fair 
A pearl in an oyster she shone like a star 
Augmenting her sisterhoods prayers 
Her singing touched Angels and melted their hearts 
her choirs inspired the search 
For the lost holy grail, the Benedict arts 
And the best of the Catholic Church 

But if one thing 
One precious little thing 
Would darken this facade 
There would be such consequences 

Like the night Sister Victoria 
Stepped in from the freezing cold 
No candles would light at Evening Mass 

The days passed by without a sigh 
But dusk came thick with dread 
Intangible, the air was full 

Of wanderlust and approaching bloodshed 

In truth, the Abbess with her pious whims 
Enjoyed the new girl's pain 
Proof to the rest tat the briars of sin 
Entangled all the world in Satan's name 

Victoria Varco, once heiress 
To a proud noble estate 
Fell pregnant by her recklessness 
Who then fell foul to a violent fate 
Such was here cime in expedient times 
And the shame of besmirching her name 
Her child was burnt, she was dragged to these walls 
For a life in obedient chains 

But not one thing 
One precious little thing 
Would darken this facade 

Like the night Sister Victoria 
Woke screaming in her room 
She spent a week spiralling from heaven 

And as the seasons wheezed and pained 
Her dream grew more perverse 
For no good reasons she would to find 
An alluring woman naked save for jewels and verse 

When here eyelids close, on a moonlit shore 
This intoxicating beauty would appear 
The sweetest symphony composed 
Those abating lips rose 
Tho whisper dirty secrets in her ear 

Clandestine secrets 

A dream within a dream 
She finds hereself this nymph 
Abreast a desert dune 
And below the crescent moon 
Atop a darksome stranger 

Ah, the spurting of his seed inside here 
Triggers paradise 
She rides the beast until the heavens trembled 

Forcing eclipse, her lover licks her blood 
That drips upon the sand 
And almost out of hand 
Coarse plots assemble 

For somewhere in the convent walls 
A templar treasure rests 
Forgotten to the vestibules 
Like pleasures of the flesh 

So, in return for nightly runs 
Past tongues and wisdom's hiss 
She promised to assist the hunt 
for an ancient golden chain amiss