Like a crystal glass of crimson wine

With a look that always says "You're mine."

With a dress so black, the night seems pale;

With her sharpened nails she casts her spell.



A curvaceous Gothic this way comes

She is so erotic, you go dumb.

She is all that you think;

The is not what she's seeming;

She's a Witch, she's a cult, she's a part-time demon.



She has learned to bite before she learned to kiss

In the dead of night, like in day she sees.

Like a cat with a mouse, she will play with your soul.

You'll feel Rock n'Roll when she'll make you crawl.



At her luring scent peasants start to shake -

Lighting torches bright, carving wooden stakes.

She might be full of herself, but she's probably right-

After all, she is the hottest thing to walk the night.



A curvaceous Gothic this way comes

She is so erotic, you go dumb.

She is all that you think;

The is not what she's seeming;



She's a Witch, she's a cult, and she's a part-time demon.



She has never been like other girls;

She has cut the throats of all her dolls;

She's been past Anne Rice when she was eight;



When it dies, she'll mummify her cat.



Yes, she is a bitch and much more then that.

But without her around, the rocking world feels flat