My lantern chased Her phantom and blew
Their chapel ablaze, and all locked in to a pain,
Best reserved for judgement that their bible construed.
Putting reason to flight, or to flame, unashamed..
I swept form cries, mesmerized
By the taffeta Ley, or Her hips that held sway,
Over all those at bay.
Save a mist on the rise,
A final blessing to hide
Her ghost in the fog..
And I embraced - where lovers rot
Her ghost in the fog."
Cradle of Filth - Her Ghost in the Fog