Cradle Of Filth - The Persecution Song - GTP табы

At the very start 
There were whispers in the dark 
And for all the world to see 
There was witchcraft at its heart 
And on the autumn air 
The scent of bonfires everywhere 
And a fell wind stirred the leaves... 

The persecution song 

Telltale signs of possession 
Little Miss Demeanour in the demons bed 
Gasps she just could not suppress 
After lights-out midst the dead 
And a past on which sin cast its darts of wickedness 

Time was running faster for disaster 
Strange nights were burning 
In the furnace of her dreams 
A name was uttered, Lilith 
Mistress, playmate, master 
Such sights were stolen in the throes of ecstasy 

And in the thick of all 
In the Black Goddess's thrall 
With the wood unseen for trees 
Victoria stood tall 
Promiscuous in step 
The Devil breathing down her neck 
As jealous zealots stitched apiece... 

The persecution song 

Telltale signs of possession 
Fickle Miss Demeanour hissed and disappeared 
To her Sisters of the cloth 
She now reeked of Astaroth 
Again the curse had surfaced 
Sneaking back the pagan years 

Weaving webs of great revealing 
Hidden in the convent 
An evil libido abided, undone 
Breathing, deceiving 
Feasting on her deviant feelings 
She'd clung to her crucifix 
Once her torturers begun 

Her screams came quick 
The miserichord 
Den to vice and screw 
That had reddened many tongues 
Wrung symphonies 
Of suffering from her 

Many moons hardened pure hearts 
Those plagued by her black arts 
Their rooms secreting phantom orgies 
Vile rites and rifled graves 

Mere hours, now towered 
Above this bent and beaten flower 
Her naked body privy to 
The Abbess and her ways 

Victoria fought 
No guilt was wrought 
Just a torrid retort of blasphemies 
Nails and crosses vomited forth 
From this pretty little whore now arched like Hell 

Arched like Hell 

At the very start 
There were whispers in the dark 
And for all the world to see 
There was witchcraft at its heart 
But then the end grew nigh 
A dirge inferno filled the sky 
In its customary key... 

The persecution song 

Telltale signs of obsession 
No wailing banshee would dishonour their name 
Nuns dragged her to the blasted oak 
Storm-clouds threatened holy smoke 
They hanged her there like Judas 
With the Hellcat in her reined 

Time was running faster for disaster 
Exorcism, torture, gallows 
Now a shallow grave 
A name was stuttered, Isaac 
Tongue-tied, simple, bastard 
They made him dig the pit 
Mindless of what it claimed