A.F.I. - The Days of Phoenix

I remember when I was told of story of crushed velvet,
Candle wax, and dried up flowers
The figure on the bed all dressed up in roses, calling
Beckoning to sleep,
Offering a dream

Words were as mystical as purring animals
The circle of rage
The ghosts on the stage appeared
The time was so tangible, I'll never let it go
Ghost stories handed down, reached secret tunnels below