| Fifteen-hundred-thirty-six
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| Her age has come, the crown affixed
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| Her only wish is to conceive while burning those that shun belief
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| Countless years of bloodthirst
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| And hundreds sacrificed
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| All hanged, quartered, cauterized
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| The queen’s still longing to give birth
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| Endless years of madness, death-fatigue, the cruel intrigue
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| Is the despair and the sadness of a royal womb still fruitless
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| BLOOD QUEEN
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| BLOOD QUEEN
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| Like a beggar 'fore the altar it seems the lord has eased her plight
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| Yet miscarriage still comes swiftly like a thief in 'midst of night
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| Ascending her stairs backwards
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| Clutching a mirror and candle
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| «Show me my future and show me what’s mine» and the mirror shows her a new born
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| child
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| She reaches for the infant, so sweet
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| But the mirror CRACKS and its eyes start to bleed
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| A thick mist descends suddenly down the stairs
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| She drops the ghastly mirror screaming in despair
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| BLOOD QUEEN
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| A shape appears in the mist
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| And throws her to the floor
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| The child, now floating in the air
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| She screams, «NO MORE!»
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| The eyeless child then reaches out
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| She grabs its little arm
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| But a surge of mist pulls her back
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| The sudden force breaks the infant’s neck
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| Blood Queen
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| Blood Queen
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| Blood Queen
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| She comes through the mirrors
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| Blood Queen
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| She comes through the mirrors
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| Blood Queen
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| She comes through the mirrors
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| Blood Queen |