CRADLE OF FILTH - Her Ghost in the Fog

The Moon,she hangs like a cruel portrait soft winds whisper the bidding of trees as this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart and the midnightmare trampling of dreams But on,no tears please Fear and pain may accompany death But it is desire that shepherds it’s certainty as we shall see...“ She was divinity’s creature That kissed in cold mirrors A queen of snow Far beyond compare Lips attuned to symmetry Sought her everywhere Dark liquored eyes An Arabian nightmare... She shone on watercolours