| In the midst of flaming ruins sits a scarlet woman bare
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| Bearing arms of blooded silver sitting stalwart on a mare
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| She has journeyed through salvation she has journeyed all alone
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| She has journeyed through the twilight to find shelter in the sun
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| Lashed inside a raven corset wearing heels immersed in ash
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| Underneath her raven cloister she is blooded, bruised and scratched
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| She has journeyed through forever turning feathers into stone
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| Dressed in nothing but her girdle she bears carnage in her soul
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| In the midst of blood and fire sits a scarlet woman still
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| She is waiting for completion waiting patiently, tranquil
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| She has journeyed through purgation watching crimson turn to black
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| She is waiting for perfection scratching symbols in her back
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| Clenching hands reveal a dagger made of silver, made of lead
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| She is cutting crests of crimson carving symbols in the dead
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| From the apex of perfection hangs the loving Jesus crowned
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| Crowned in thorns of misconception as a beacon to the blind
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| In the midst of my desires sits a scarlet woman pure
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| She has journeyed through the slaughter to unveil the truth of four
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| Lashed inside her blooded girdle she is waiting for the rain
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| To deliver her from evil and deliver her from pain
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| Only seconds after waiting golden rain begins to fall
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| It relieves her aching body and revives the burning soil
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| As a consequence of murder foursome rises from the dew
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| To desire more than nothing is a hunger of the few |