---

With a harness of steel and a tempered blade,
An equestrian seeks out traces of a runaway.
Led to these torrid lands by a lonely mage,
From the tallest towers of Zul-Bha-Sair's sage.

The haunted escapee in Zothique,
The baccante sorceress, she's of mystique -
Raised from beyond, no longer dead,
Roam barren lands, from a god she fled.

Flee! Flee! Flee! Flee! Flee! Flee!

Stench of fear in the air and he spots her in the bower -
The reared horse with the knight smothering the witches' power.
The sheathed sword on his belt, rattling no less than armor,
Given by Pharazyn, the infamous enchanter.

And responding to her witchcraft, oscillating out loud,
His sharp weapon at his side stirs the quiet of the mount.
He alights now, bares his brand, hearkening to every sound,
All of the sudden, she exhales, fearing that she'll be found.

Nowhere to run
From the wrong she has done!
It is useless to cry.
It is her fate to die,
His will won't be denied.

With her last breath,
In a sorrowful death,
She will beg that she's freed.
On his sword she'll bleed!
She will rue her misdeed!

And the reek of death fills the marsh
That soon will be,
scorched to its soil in one flash.
Daunted eyes pilfering the tears of the tarrier,

Those ardent tears adorn her face dismayed.
And singing silently rain claims them away,
As dour doom is seen in the motions of the swift and bold warrior,

Owned by the one who devours souls on his altar.
Staring in her eyes, he lifts up the sigil hilt above her...

Flash of the blade,
And her life starts to fade.
In a few seconds time
She had paid for her crime.
Those who live again, die!

Warrior's eyes
Still look as cold as ice.
Once he gets off his steed,
On his sword she'll bleed!
She will rue her misdeed!

Ooo-ooooo--oooo
As she'll be fed to Mordiggian, yeah!
A lifeless look on her face on the way back to the charnel.

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