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In the midst of flaming ruins sits a scarlet woman bare |
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Bearing arms of blooded silver sitting stalwart on a mare |
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She has journeyed through salvation she has journeyed all alone |
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She has journeyed through the twilight to find shelter in the sun |
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Lashed inside a raven corset wearing heels immersed in ash |
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Underneath her raven cloister she is blooded, bruised and scratched |
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She has journeyed through forever turning feathers into stone |
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Dressed in nothing but her girdle she bears carnage in her soul |
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In the midst of blood and fire sits a scarlet woman still |
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She is waiting for completion waiting patiently, tranquil |
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She has journeyed through purgation watching crimson turn to black |
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She is waiting for perfection scratching symbols in her back |
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Clenching hands reveal a dagger made of silver, made of led |
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She is cutting crests of crimson carving symbols in the dead |
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From the apex of perfection hangs the loving Jesus crowned |
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Crowned in thorns of misconception as a beacon to the blind |
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In the midst of my desires sits a scarlet woman pure |
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She has journeyed through the slaughter to unveil the truth of four |
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Lashed inside her blooded girdle she is waiting for the rain |
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To deliver her from evil and deliver her from pain |
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Only seconds after waiting golden rain begins to fall |
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It relieves her aching body and revives the burning soil |
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As a consequence of murder foursome rises from the dew |
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To desire more than nothing is a hunger of the few |
