Spectral Romance

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In the shadow of love, hatred blooms,

the pleasured dead roll in their hallowed tombs.


The curse of life is that it ends too soon,

the death of love was far too tragic.

Weeping tears of crystal under the moon,

her breast pulsated with devious black magic.


In a fit of envy, she made love to the dead,

her sanity hung from a ghostly thread.


She gave her soul for taboo love,

eternal sorrow or a life of hell.

As the ghost of her beloved took flight like a mourning dove,

she turned her ear from the chime of the bell.


With madness she would gladly dance,

to eulogies of a spectral romance.

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