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Cradle of Filth - Bathory Aria

The Spirits have all but fled judgement

I rot, alone, insane,

Where the forest whispers puce laments for me

From amidst the pine and wreathed wolfsbane

Beyond these walls, wherein condemned

To the gloom of an austere tomb

I pace with feral madness sent

Through the pale beams of a guiltless moon

Who, bereft of necrologies, thus

Commands creation over the earth

Whilst I resign my lips to death

A slow cold kiss that chides rebirth

Though one last wish is bequathed by fate

My beauty shalt wilt, unseen

Save for twin black eyes that shalt come to take

My soul to peace or Hell for company