| Midwinter wrongs the rites of Spring
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| Her spinal chill rakes the earth
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| Whilst pensive souls at zero sing
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| Woebetidings of rebirth
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| Under cold stares of Mars maligned
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| Near-suicides cross their hearts
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| And unborns writhe in tepid brine
|
| For something wicked this way starts
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| Beneath the howling stars
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| Elizabeth, paragon of vice
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| Watches the sun set pyres alight
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| As Bane and Tyranny, her dobermans sleep
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| Like spellbound paramours at Her feet
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| A chatter of bells without
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| Raise hellhounds, teeth on edge
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| From sleighs hastened through snow lit red
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| Guests espied from the garret ledge
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| Great gloomy mirror tell her face
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| She will outblind them all
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| That heavenly bodies would fall from grace
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| To possess such a lustrous pall
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| For beauty is always cruel…
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| For beauty is always…
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| (Let destiny in chains commence…
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| Damnation under Gods seeking recompense
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| Enslaving to the whims of this mistress)
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| As the dance ensued
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| Elizabeth’s mood
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| Tempered by the craft of a vitreous moon
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| In slick black iciness it grew
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| To consume
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| The wench her tower tombed
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| Tending to her costume
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| Bore the brunt of the storm
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| When the needle askewed
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| She has her dogs maul the bitch’s wrists through
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| Restored to jaded bliss
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| This evisceratrix
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| Descended to the ball
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| With painted blood upon Her lips
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| Passing like a comet so white
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| As to eclipse
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| The waltz wound down, transfixed
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| Devoid of all breath in the air
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| Even death paled to compare
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| To the taint of her splendour
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| So rare and engendered
|
| 'Pon the awed throng gathered
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| There…
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| Beneath the howling stars
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| She danced so macabre
|
| Men entranced divined from her gait
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| That this angel stepped from a pedestal
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| Had won remission from fate
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| By alighting to darker spheres
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| Delighting in held sway
|
| For she was not unlike the Goddess
|
| To whom the wolves bayed
|
| Whilst envy glanced daggers
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| From court maidens, arboured
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| Who whispered in sects
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| Of suspicions abroad
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| That Elizabeth bewitched
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| See how even now the whore casts
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| Her spells upon the Black Count
|
| Whom her reddened lips hold fast
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| Tongue unto tongue
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| Swept on tides without care
|
| For the harpies who rallied
|
| Their maledict glares
|
| A halo of ravens tousled her hair
|
| Chandeliers a tiara
|
| For passions ensnared
|
| Phantasies sexed
|
| When their eyes, moonstruck met
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| Their friction wore away
|
| Through the sea of foreplay
|
| Lovers at first bite
|
| She an Eve tempted to lay
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| Gasping at rafters
|
| Flesh pressed in ballet
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| But caprice, honours leashed
|
| She absconded the feast
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| To prowl wonderland
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| Beasts in hand from the eep
|
| Of Feudal dilemma
|
| Well mantled in furs
|
| Through cullis to watch
|
| Dogstars howl at the earth
|
| On this violent night
|
| Unholy night
|
| Winds lashed their limbs together
|
| As the ether vent its wintry spite
|
| She wished his kiss on her frozen landscapes
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| To excite the bleak advance
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| From castle bowers
|
| Wherein small hours
|
| The Devil never came by chance
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| A lone charm tied to her inner thigh
|
| Sent lusts nova as hooves trod
|
| Cobbled streets where lowlives fleet
|
| Were flung to a wayward God
|
| Midwinter wrongs the rites of Spring
|
| Her spinal chill rakes the earth
|
| Whilst pensive souls at zero sing
|
| Woebetidings of rebirth
|
| Under cold stares of Mars maligned
|
| Near-suicides cross their hearts
|
| And unborns writhe in tepid brine
|
| For something wicked this way starts
|
| Beneath the howling stars
|
| Pounding upon the pauper ridge
|
| Earshot of a hunched beldame
|
| Elizabeth teased, would he dare to please
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| Such elderly loins enflamed?
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| To this he feigned a grim disdain
|
| Playing to her slayful eye
|
| But the hag replied…
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| This girl that chides
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| Will soon be as plagued with age as I
|
| Her consort laughed a plume of icy breath
|
| For Elizabeth’s grace could raise
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| A flag of truce in burning heaven
|
| Or the dead from early graves
|
| Yet still she seethed
|
| This proud Snow Queen
|
| Embittered with the cursed retort
|
| And because he sought her loves onslaught
|
| He gutted the crone for sport
|
| Soon in full moon fever they were wed
|
| Lycanthropic in the conjugal bed
|
| Littered with aphrodisiacs
|
| To tease dynastic union
|
| And beget them further maniacs
|
| Elizabeth
|
| Free reigned, now a Countess
|
| Outwielded and outwore
|
| Her title like a favoured dress
|
| Whilst her errant Lord
|
| Whose seasons savoured war
|
| Stormed black to fell the infidel
|
| Her embers, tempered, roared |