The moon shines bright upon the land
The witching hour close at hand
In darkness bleak, the hood I seek
We meet this night at my command
For I, enthroned in power supreme
I, whose golden crown doth gleam
With conquest bold of nations old
Convene with him as in a dream

His voice is soft, but echoes still
Resounding now from moor and hill
Within my soul, my being whole
Feels a vague yet certain thrill
For though I am the king of all
And potentates I have in thrall
I long for more—each distant shore
Should bow to me and heed my call

“Hark!” said he, in whispered tones
“Thy servants shall be others' thrones
But from thee payment I require
That thy soul be mine when thou expires
Think hard upon my words, O king
Your name through history shall ring
But mark me well, and cross me not
For remember that thy soul is bought”

“Wretch!” I cried, “No servant loyal
Should dare dictate to power royal
Obsessed am I, but not so much
As to yield my soul unto your touch
Yet for all that, my soul desires
To see my foes on funeral pyres
Though head says nay, my heart agrees”
And before him I fell to my knees

My eyes began to darken
My strength began to fade
I felt my essence leave me
The price, it had been paid
As if from far away, I heard
Malevolent laughter in the night
I heard his taunting voice above me
“Thou shalt never see the light!”

My vision cleared, and then I rose
To find myself alone
I ruminated on the pact we swore
Circled ‘round with walls of stone
I looked up to see the moon
Hanging o'er the tallest tower
High above, a lone bell tolled
And proclaimed the lateness of the hour

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.