Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Forest Whispers My Name, artist - Cradle Of Filth. Album song Vempire Or Dark Faerytales In Phallustein, in the genre
Date of issue: 31.07.2008
Record label: Cacophonous
Song language: English
The Forest Whispers My Name |
Black candles dance to an overture |
But I am drawn past their flickering lure |
To the breathing forest that surrounds the room |
Where the vigilant trees push out of the womb |
I sip the blood-red wine |
My thoughts weigh heavy with the burden of time |
From knowledge drunk from the fountain of life |
From Chaos born out of love and the scythe |
The forest beckons with her nocturnal call |
To pull me close amid the baying of wolves |
Where the bindings of Christ are down-trodden with scorn |
In the dark, odiferous earth |
We embrace like two lovers at death |
A monument to the trapping of breath |
As restriction is bled from the veins of my neck |
To drop roses on my marbled breast |
I lust for the wind and the flurry of leaves |
And the perfume of flesh on the murderous breeze |
To learn from the dark and the voices between |
This is my will |
The forest whispers my name, again and again |
When the moon is full |
We shall assemble to adore |
The potent spirit of your Queen |
My mother great Diana |
She who fain would learn all sorcery |
Yet has not won its deepest secrets |
Then my mother will |
Teach her, in truth |
All things as yet unknown |
I walk the path |
To the land of the Dark Immortals |
Where the hungry ones will carry my soul |
As the wild hunt careers through the boughs |
Come to me, my Pale Enchantress |
In the moon of the woods we kiss |
Artemis be near me |
In the arms of the ancient oak |
Where daylight hangs by a lunar noose |
And the horned, hidden one is re-invoked |
The principle of Evil |
Evolution has been recalled |
Beneath the spread of a Magickal Aeon |
I stand enthralled |
In the whispering forest |
«Pale, beyond porch and portal |
Crowned with leaves, she stands |
Who gathers all things mortal |
With cold immortal hands |
Her languid lips are sweeter |
Than love’s who fears to greet her |
To men that mix and meet her |
From many times and lands.» |