Spooky And Gothic Song Lyrics
Spooky and Gothic song lyrics, by Mysty Brett - because these kind of do sound like poems, narrative or otherwise. Scroll down to read:
Red Rose On A Tomb
Victorian Mother
The Moon Is Waning Over Your Grave
The Lamb and The Bat
For Mysty's poems about vampires and the sinister undead: http://mystymysty.wixsite.com/undeadpoetry
For Mysty's poems about beneficial or harmless ghosts or spirits: http://mystymysty.wixsite.com/midnightmistspoetry
Red Rose On A Tomb
a young belle in white,
among the misty graves;
the full moon looms bright,
above the distant waves;
She walks on alone,
in her hand a crimson rose
he dreams of her dreams
in his sad house of stone
So painfully thin, sickly pale and sunken-cheeked,
he sighed on his couch, languishing with frame so weak
Long ghostly see through, taper fingers trailed his brow
his doctors despaired – to his grave he seemed fast bound.
From Ireland she came, all those miles of ocean,
to work as a nurse to this fey
creature who swooned, with a foot in both worlds,
while his spirit roamed and floated near away.
The spirit was strong, but the body was so weak
He rallied at first, through their love so sweet and deep,
But then passion consumed, wracked with fever wasting coughs
In a huge tide of blood, he expired upon his cot!
So now as the eve, of her wedding day gloams,
she visits his vault of repose
Tomorrow she'll sail, to her new life new home,
Now upon his tomb she leaves a crimson rose.
Now upon his tomb she leaves a crimson rose.
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Victorian Mother
Victorian mother, whose bones moulder here,
close to the dust of your sucklings:
Seven you bore, so soon lost to the night;
oh how extreme were your sufferings!
You'd understand I feel more than people now,
my hopes aversions and dreams,
so please succour my sad soul,
I sense you know how;
bring me the child that I need!
Oh lady I see you, I know that I do,
though blackness weighs down my dead eyes.
I've sensed you enleeching, some essence from me,
anchoring me to your side.
During my lifetime I poured out sympathy;
with you I feel the same way.
As you'll cherish my dear child, who has to leave here,
soon you can take it away.
I'm here in my bedroom, when cypresses, yews,
mossed headstones and tombs sear my sight;
Through them glides a lady, garbed 1840s,
in mourners weeds blacker than night.
She's holding the hand of a small, blurred-face child,
in frock frilled pantalettes clothed.
Within snowflakes they rush by; she puts into my hands,
a bunch of snowdrops as she goes.
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The Moon Is Waning Over Your Grave
The moon is waning over your grave, Isabel.
The sun is fading on the sea wave, Isabel.
And the fog swirls in to darken my way,
To our dear home with swathes of grey,
That dear home we treasured, in such happy days,
Isabel.
I wear your dark locks close to my heart, Isabel.
I've faith we'll one day not be apart, Isabel.
I know you came to me in a dream,
Walked by my bed in the pale moon's gleams,
Your life and our love's an eternal beam,
Isabel.
The moon is waning over your grave.
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The Lamb And The Bat/Sheep-Fleece-Like-Haired Maiden
(woo-woo, woo-woo, woo-woo = wind sounds)
Oh, sheep's-fleece-like-haired maiden,
Fog swirls outside your bedroom window.
Oh, sheep's-fleece-like-haired maiden,
fog swirls outside your bedroom window.
And, the moon looms full, pours silver glow,
while a dog howls in the yard below.
Oh, sheep-fleece-like-haired maiden -
beware! Beware!
Oh, sheep's-fleece-like-haired maiden,
does a branch tap now at your window?
Oh, sheep's-fleece-like-haired maiden,
dreaming in frilled cotton white as new snow?
You do not see, what's by your sill;
a face macabre, corpse-like, ill.
Oh, stir before it's too late,
to flee, this snare!
A bat flits zig-zagging in,
above the ruffled waterfall of your chest,
it hovers black sin
It's banshee squeaks
as your bosom peaks
and then falls, and your hair,
kinks endlessly fair …
Oh, virginal sweet maiden,
something dark's moving in the shadow.
Oh, fair Lambetta sleeping,
at your bed's foot, it rises from low.
It's now a panther ,
above a lamb -
I pray your angels make this sham!
Or you'll be found tomorrow,
blood-drained, sheep maid.
(so chaste).
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