The Moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait
Soft winds whisper the bidding of trees
As this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart
And the Midnightmare trampling of dreams
Cradle of Filth, "Her Ghost In The Fog"
The Moon, she hangs like a cruel portrait
Soft winds whisper the bidding of trees
As this tragedy starts with a shattered glass heart
And the Midnightmare trampling of dreams
Cradle of Filth, "Her Ghost In The Fog"
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