Thorns of Vespertine - The Ballad of the Lily-Wife

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Drawn from Adam Mickiewicz’s haunting folk ballad “Lilije”, this reimagining by Thorns of Vespertine tells a tale of murder, deceit, and divine retribution. A lord rides to war, but never returns – for his wife, grown cold, takes his life and hides his body beneath blooming lilies. Her secret seems safe… until his brothers come to court her, and a wedding is set. Yet on that day, the chapel doors break, the candles die, and her dead husband walks again to claim his wreath – and his vengeance.

This is Thorns of Vespertine at their most folkloric and most fatal.
• Full lyrics inscribed below
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In time of war and sworded strife,
There dwelt a lord and wedded wife.
Yet he, to battle far was gone,
And she grew cold, and loved anon.

A crime unspoken since the world began –
The bride hath spill’d the blood of her own man.

With dagger hid in midnight’s grace,
She stabb’d him deep beneath the face.
No priest, no bell, no cross, no cry –
She buried him where lilies lie.

A crime unspoken since the world began –
The bride hath spill’d the blood of her own man.

She cover’d grave with bloomèd snow,
And lied to all who sought to know.
“He perished far on battle’s plain –
My lord shall ne’er return again.”

A crime unspoken since the world began –
The bride hath spill’d the blood of her own man.

Two brethren of her dead did come,
Both eager-eyed, and lusting some.
She smil’d and wept with fain deceit,
And vow’d to choose, yet none unmeet.

A crime unspoken since the world began –
The bride hath spill’d the blood of her own man.

At last, one brother disappear’d,
The other claim’d the hand he cheer’d.
A wedding set, with priest and prayer,
With lilies weav’d into her hair.

Then sudden loud the chapel doors did break,
The wind blew in, the flames did shiver, quake.
A shape in white through shadow'd threshold came –
Its step well-known, its armour still the same.

It stood – and all within were struck with dread,
It stood – and sideward turn’d its ghostly head.
With voice as hollow as the charnel tomb,
It cried aloud and fill’d the sacred gloom:

“My wreath – and thou, false wife of mine!
The flower torn from grave of thine.
Bind me, O priest, with holy band –
And thou, foul spouse, dost doom thy hand.
’Tis I, thy lord – thy wedded breath!
And you, false brothers – mark your death!
Ye pluck’d from out my resting-place,
Now still your strife, your blood disgrace.
I am thy husband, I thy kin –
The wreath was mine – now come within...
Come all – unto the world of sin!”

The temple's seat did quake and groan,
From timber slid the mortis’d stone.
The arched roof did creak and cry,
And down into the earth did fly.

The soil did wrap her in the deep,
And o’er her lilies rose from sleep.
They grew so high toward heav’n’s face –
As deep as lay his buried grace.

A crime unspoken since the world began –
The bride hath spill’d the blood of her own man.

The temple's seat did quake and groan,
From timber slid the mortis’d stone.
The arched roof did creak and cry,
And down into the earth did fly.

The soil did wrap her in the deep,
And o’er her lilies rose from sleep.
They grew so high toward heav’n’s face –
As deep as lay his buried grace.

A crime unspoken since the world began –
The bride hath spill’d the blood of her own man.
A crime unspoken since the world began –
The bride hath spill’d the blood of her own man!!!