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Stone-white

The moonlight bathes

The ghostly beauty

And host of wraiths

In her hands

The Maiden holds

A jar of water

For baptismal woes

All of those

Crossing her path

Slain at the touch

Of heaven's wrath

They fall

Stricken with pain

The water burns

Cold in their veins

Pouring out

Death from The Source

Crystalline streams

Set their course

Cruel rapture

Death is release

Flee the Holy Company

Roaming the streets