Sibilant and macabre
Walpurgis sauntered in
Skies litten with five-pointed stars
The work of crafts surpassing sin
As She graced Her window ledge
An orphaned gypsy nymph
This issue of the forest's bed
Skin flushed with sipped absinthe
Her eyes revealed, as Brocken's peak
Tried once concealing Hell
A snow white line of divine freaks
In riot, where they fell

The circus lurches in a ring of promised delight
For seven days and seven festival nights
What wicked wonders lie within the confines
Of the panther's den
She watches from a maypole, on the tip of Her tongue
The restless spirit of a Christmas to come
A Gretel sick of merely sucking Her thumb
Of gingerbread men

Spawned, scorned, abhorred by the aerial
She was the light of the world going down
War-torn, forlorn and malarial
She was found born in a burial gown
Born in a burial gown
Born in a burial
Unloosed the chain of her God-given cross
Seduced, now pagan ribbons swathe Her repose
In a carnival of souls sold and similarly lost
Too many decades misfit and mislaid
So innocent, a tender legend of prey
Parades Her second coming, now they're running afraid

Spawned, scorned, abhorred by the aerial
She was the light of the world going down
War-torn, forlorn and malarial
She was found born in a burial gown
She was born, born in a burial gown
She was born, born in a burial gown

Now She moves with a predator's guile
Beyond the firelit circle of life
She soothes your cold heart for a while
Then matches its beat, sinking in with a knife
She wrestles Her dreams with a delicate ease
Espied by a cross on the wall
And should she awake
Through embrace or mistake
She would take Jesus
Blest foot forward and all

Sibilant and at last
The circus crawled away
With another lover in its arms
Dancing on Her grave
Born, born, born, born, born, born
Born in a burial gown
She was born, born, born, born
Born in a burial gown
Born in a burial gown