Cradle Of Filth - The Persecution Song* Lyrics
At the very startThere were whispers in the darkAnd for all the world to seeThere was witchcraft at its heartAnd on the autumn airThe scent of bonfires everywhereAnd a fell wind stirred the leavesThe persecution songTelltale signs of possessionLittle Miss Demeanor in the demons bedGasps, she just could not suppressAfter lights out, midst the deadAnd a past on which sinCast its darts of wickednessTime was running faster for disasterStrange nights were burningIn the furnace of her dreamsA name was uttered, LilithMistress, playmate, masterSuch sights were stolenIn the throes of ecstasyAnd in the thick of allIn the Black Goddess's thrallWith the wood unseen for treesVictoria stood tallPromiscuous in stepThe Devil breathing down her neckAs jealous zealots stitched apieceThe persecution songTelltale signs of possessionFickle Miss DemeanourHissed and disappearedTo her sisters of the clothShe now reeked of AstarothAgain the curse had surfacedSneaking back the pagan yearsWeaving webs of great revealingHidden in the conventAn evil libido abided, undoneBreathing, deceivingFeasting on her deviant feelingsShe'd clung to her crucifixOnce her torture has begunHer screams came quick, the misery chordDen to vice and screwThat had reddened many tonguesWrung symphonies of suffering from herMany moons hardened pure heartsThose plagued by her black artsTheir rooms secreting phantom orgiesVile rites and rifled gravesMere hours, now toweredAbove this bent and beaten flowerHer ***** body privy toThe abbess and her waysVictoria fought, no guilt was wroughtJust a torrid retort of blasphemiesNails and crosses vomited forthFrom this pretty little whoreNow arched like hell, arched like hellAt the very startThere were whispers in the darkAnd for all the world to seeThere was witchcraft at its heartBut then the end grew nighA dirge inferno filled the skyIn its customary keyThe persecution songTelltale signs of obsessionNo wailing bansheeWould dishonor their nameNuns dragged her to the blasted oakStorm-clouds threatened holy smokeThey hanged her there like JudasWith the hellcat in her reinedTime was running faster for disasterExorcism, torture, gallowsNow a shallow graveA name was stuttered, IsaacTongue-tied, simple, bastardThey made him dig the pitMindless of what it claimedMindless of what it claimed
