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The world was her cloister, the abbess |
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DuboirIn the convent at all hallows fair |
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A pearl in an oyster she shone like a star |
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Augmenting her sisterhoods prayers |
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Her singing touched angels |
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And melted their hearts |
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Her choirs inspired the search |
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For the lost holy grail, the |
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Benedict arts |
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And the best of the |
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Catholic Church |
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But if one thing |
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One precious little thing |
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Would darken this facade |
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There would be such consequences |
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Like the night |
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Sister Victoria |
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Stepped in from the freezing cold |
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No candles would light at evening mass |
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The days passed by without a sigh |
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But dusk came thick with dread |
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Intangible, the air was full of wanderlust |
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And approaching bloodshed |
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In truth, the abbess with her pious whims |
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Enjoyed the new girl's pain |
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Proof to the rest that the briers of sin |
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Entangled all the world in |
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Satan's name |
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Victoria Varco, once heiress |
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To a proud noble estate |
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Fell pregnant by her recklessness |
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Who then fell foul to a violent fate |
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Such was here clime in expedient times |
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And the shame of besmirching her name |
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Her child was burnt |
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She was dragged to these walls |
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For a life in obedient chains |
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But not one thing |
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One precious little thing |
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Would darken this facade |
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Like the night |
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Sister Victoria |
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Woke screaming in her room |
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She spent a week spiraling from heaven |
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And as the seasons wheezed and pained |
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Her dreams grew more perverse |
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For no good reasons she would to find |
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An alluring woman naked, save for jewels and verse |
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When here eyelids close, on a moonlit shore |
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This intoxicating beauty would appear |
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The sweetest symphony composed |
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Those abating lips rose |
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Tho whisper dirty secrets in her ear |
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Clandestine secrets |
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A dream within a dream |
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She finds herself this nymph |
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Abreast a desert dune |
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And below the crescent moon |
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Atop a dark-some stranger |
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Ah, the spurting of his seed inside |
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The triggers paradise |
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She rides the beast |
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Until the heavens trembled |
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Forcing eclipse |
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Her lover licks her blood |
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That drips upon the sand |
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And almost out of hand |
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Coarse plots assemble |
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For somewhere in the convent walls |
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A Templar treasure rests |
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Forgotten to the vestibules |
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Like pleasures of the flesh |
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So, in return for nightly runs |
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Past tongues and wisdom's hiss |
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She promised to assist the hunt |
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For an ancient golden chain amiss |