Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With nightshade's bloom and hemlock's doom,
And secrets only shadows know.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Lily white and deadly bright,
Oleander lined in a row,
With every bloom, she seals their doom,
A kiss from death's own bow.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Crows will call, and shadows fall,
As she tends her silent beds.
With a gentle hand, she commands the land,
Where the living meet the dead.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow?
With deadly blooms in moonlit gloom,
And tales of those laid low.
Aged Beyond Decay - Mary's Poisoned Blooms Lyrics
Aged Beyond Decay - Mary's Poisoned Blooms Lyrics
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Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With nightshade's bloom and hemlock's doom,
And secrets only shadows know.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Lily white and deadly bright,
Oleander lined in a row,
With every bloom, she seals their doom,
A kiss from death's own bow.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Crows will call, and shadows fall,
As she tends her silent beds.
With a gentle hand, she commands the land,
Where the living meet the dead.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow?
With deadly blooms in moonlit gloom,
And tales of those laid low.
How does your garden grow?
With nightshade's bloom and hemlock's doom,
And secrets only shadows know.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Lily white and deadly bright,
Oleander lined in a row,
With every bloom, she seals their doom,
A kiss from death's own bow.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Crows will call, and shadows fall,
As she tends her silent beds.
With a gentle hand, she commands the land,
Where the living meet the dead.
In the dead of night, by the pale moonlight,
Her garden whispers tales of woe.
Those who dare, enter there,
Nevermore the sun will know.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow?
With deadly blooms in moonlit gloom,
And tales of those laid low.
Writer: Andy Bolton
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid