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Twisting Further Nails - Cradle of Filth
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Twisting Further Nails Cradle of Filth

Twisting Further Nails - Cradle of Filth
"Mirror, mirror on the wall
Shouldst not grave pleasures be my all?
For if I shall see thy Will be done
Grant Me the Witchcraft of thy tongue"

Three moondials froze in the shadow of six
As another soul passed to the grasping Styx
Clutching their trinket crucifix
Bats blew from eaves in a dissonant surge
Omens of corruption from within the church
A fetid, dank oasis still clung to fool rebirth

Alone as a stone cold altar
The castle and its keep
Like faerytale dominion rose
A widow to the snow peaks
Wherein reclined the Countess
Limbs purring from the kill
Bathеd in virgin white and like the night
Alivе and young and unfulfilled

Was it the cry of a wolf
That broke the silver thread of enchanted thoughts?
Of Her life as a mere reflection
(As the moon's in narrow windows caught)
That opened like dark eyelids on
The sigh of the woods that the wind fell upon
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