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White as snow lie my lover's bones in the soft, velvet soil of the vault, |
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And I, his bride, sleep by his side, |
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To celebrate our sacred love. |
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At times it seems that |
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I'm existing only within some fading memory, |
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But dreams are all sacred, dreams are all holy ... - |
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And, by far, still the safest place for my poor soul to be. |
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Do not speak of the terrible place that guided your war-horse and your living stake ! |
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We are dancing in circles with the dear living dead, |
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We are blessed with the corpses that coil 'round our necks. |
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Please, don't speak of that terrible place, |
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That once guided your war-horse and your living stake ! |
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We are taking a walk with our dear walking dead, |
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Feeling blessed with the corpses that feed on our necks. |
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I caught a glimpse of myself on the other sphere and for a fleeting moment |
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I forgot the tears. |
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Dreams are precious ... and - |
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OH - so is sleep, |
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This, my safest, yet ... by far ... the most fragile of all retreats. |
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Do not speak of the terrible place that guided your war-horse and your living stake ! |
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We are dancing in circles with the dear living dead. |
|
We are blessed with the corpses that coil 'round our necks. |
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Please, don't speak of that terrible place that once guided your war-horse and your living stake ! |
|
We are taking a walk with our dear walking dead, |
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Feeling blessed with the corpses that feed on our necks ... |