Swansong for a Raven Songtext

von Cradle Of Filth

Forgive the day's
Last serenades.
Her skies, they bruise like Nordic women.
Deep crimson stains
That death would claim.
His robes of office swim in...

As would I,
For his dark eye,
Has fixed, a basilisk, a scythe.
On charred remains,
With shared disdain
For those I chose to mortify.

Their cries
Have paralysed,
And the smoke has choked these vistas.
But still I lie,
Though tears have dried
On the grave of my Clarissa.

A verse for Her whispered to the earth,
(A lover's curse is a see-through coffin),
Praises her curves so oft concurred.

Though She was...
No Snow White on the night She dies,
Her shadower's boon when the moon glazed over,
Lipped with blood and secrets pried!

For on and in they spread her wide.
That seraph bride,
The Devil's pride,
Shalt soon avenge with swift reprise...

But they would writhe,
For my dark eye
Bewitched, was fixed like Mordecai's.
On Esther's reign,
And in this vein,
I saw their lust still stain Her thighs.

Their cries
Have paralysed,
And the smoke has choked these vistas.
But still I lie,
Though tears have dried
On the grave of my Clarissa.

Beneath these tress where the mist enwreathes,
Her spirit flees, seeing chains for torches.
A fleeting kiss stirring leaves of poetry...

I was...
No dark knight, breaking men like ice,
I was like a lycanthrope until the moon glazed over,
Lipped with blood and last goodbyes!

Now I dream,
Enwrapt in pure clouds of the sweetest oblivion
Where beauty streams,
Freed from the teeth of those beasts that had come
To tear out her spells
In red lettered cells,
Wherein even the crown prince of Hell,
Come out of his arrogant shell
Would falter to better.

But Hr face soon dispels,
And as black feathers fell
From heaven's smoke
So I woke to insanity.
Her exquisite corpse
Found fit for their sport
Of course,
Would burn on the morrow with me...

And there on this night,
Strung up in my sight,
Naked She sways
Displayed for their vulgar delight.

I scream through the bars at the stars
That for these crimes of mine solace me.
I will fear not the flames
That to passion are tame,
Not nearly the same searing pain,
(I pray) as held sway upon losing Her.
Nor the mettle of roars
That will settle like ashes and scores
As with our ghosts in the fog
When we both turn no more.