All Saints Day, the taint of rain. Blood and mud and thunder all the same. To those who close their ranks to Gille's men. . Bricqueville, Prelati and De Sille.
Where does the madness end?. How far down do the rungs expire. In smoke and burning heat?. In depravity and sin?. . In her shocking retinue. I saw the worst.
Forgive me Father, I have sinned. Darkness put her painted claws in me again. Her vision drowns like service wine. Whispered kisses so divine. I was blessed but now I've come undone.
Carrion my name. For those who choose to mouth the curse. A tragic serenade. With Judas in my stride. The gothic halls of shame. Where statues coldly hold no worse.
On the night all mirrors fell silent. And the clocks struck accord with the rain. A storm swept in with such violence. The dead rose to complain. The stars were ill-crossed as the weather.
We rise with the sun in the underworld. We suffer from a graveless name. We prise wide lids. And wounds with lips curled. Over teeth that have tasted shame.