White babydoll dress with cherry stained lips, sing pretty words, a dying mistress. Carmine moonlight, reptile eyes, whispering your name, the dead come to rise. Vanishing spirits, ribcage to my heart, a dead queen to her throne, stranger than art. Familiar voices, freakish dreams, muttering my prayers, chest rises to breathe. Stranger things have happened, the clock strikes twelve; only in this realm are we victims of hell. The ghost of reason, the ghost of chance, the spirits that torment, with the devil I dance. Stranger than fiction, strangers of past, under the rose moon, isolation at last. Blood seeps through white lace, at the alter we stand, through sickness and health, I give you my hand. Blinded by madness, mesmerized, it’s true; insanity and sadness, tell me “I do”. Mumbling spells to bound our corpses; the veins to my heart have been torn out and scorched. Stockholm syndrome, thievery of heart; a tragic bond, they try and tear us apart. Our cold hands are laced, you have me down on my knees; through chaos and mistakes, my mournful disease.