| The world was her cloister, The Abbess Duboir
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| In 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 and melted
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| Their hearts
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| Her choirs inspired the search
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| For the lost Holy Grail, the Benedict Arts
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| And the best of the 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 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
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| Of wanderlust and approaching bloodshed
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| In truth, the Abbess with her pious whims
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| Enjoyed the new girls pain
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| Proof to the rest that the briars of sin
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| Entangled all the world in Satan’s name
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| Victoria Varco, once an 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 her crime in expedient times
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| And the shame of besmirching her name
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| Her child was burnt, 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 Sister Victoria
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| Woke screaming in her room
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| She spent a week spiralling from heaven
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| And as the seasons wheezed and pined
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| Her dreams grew more perverse
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| For no good reason she would find
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| An alluring women naked save for jewels and verse
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| When her eyelids closed, 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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| To 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 darksome stranger
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| Ah, the spurting of his seed inside her triggers paradise
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| She rides the beast until the heavens tremble
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| Forcing eclipse, her lover licks her blood that drips down 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 and ancient golden chain amiss |