At the very start
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There were whispers in the dark
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And for all the world to see
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There was witchcraft at its heart
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And on the autumn air
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The scent of bonfires everywhere
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And a fell wind stirred the leaves...
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The persecution song
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Telltale signs of possession
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Little Miss Demeanour in the demons bed
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Gasps she just could not suppress
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After lights-out midst the dead
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And a past on which sin cast its darts of wickedness
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Time was running faster for disaster
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Strange nights were burning
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In the furnace of her dreams
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A name was uttered, Lilith
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Mistress, playmate, master
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Such sights were stolen in the throes of ecstasy
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And in the thick of all
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In the Black Goddess's thrall
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With the wood unseen for trees
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Victoria stood tall
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Promiscuous in step
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The Devil breathing down her neck
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As jealous zealots stitched apiece...
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The persecution song
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Telltale signs of possession
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Fickle Miss Demeanour hissed and disappeared
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To her Sisters of the cloth
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She now reeked of Astaroth
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Again the curse had surfaced
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Sneaking back the pagan years
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Weaving webs of great revealing
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Hidden in the convent
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An evil libido abided, undone
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Breathing, deceiving
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Feasting on her deviant feelings
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She'd clung to her crucifix
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Once her torturers begun
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Her screams came quick
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The miserichord
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Den to vice and screw
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That had reddened many tongues
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Wrung symphonies
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Of suffering from her
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Many moons hardened pure hearts
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Those plagued by her black arts
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Their rooms secreting phantom orgies
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Vile rites and rifled graves
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Mere hours, now towered
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Above this bent and beaten flower
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Her naked body privy to
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The Abbess and her ways
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Victoria fought
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No guilt was wrought
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Just a torrid retort of blasphemies
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Nails and crosses vomited forth
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From this pretty little whore now arched like Hell
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Arched like Hell
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At the very start
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There were whispers in the dark
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And for all the world to see
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There was witchcraft at its heart
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But then the end grew nigh
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A dirge inferno filled the sky
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In its customary key...
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The persecution song
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Telltale signs of obsession
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No wailing banshee would dishonour their name
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Nuns dragged her to the blasted oak
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Storm-clouds threatened holy smoke
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They hanged her there like Judas
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With the Hellcat in her reined
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Time was running faster for disaster
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Exorcism, torture, gallows
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Now a shallow grave
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A name was stuttered, Isaac
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Tongue-tied, simple, bastard
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They made him dig the pit
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Mindless of what it claimed
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The Persecution Song - Elder Version
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Cradle Of Filth |