“Hold fast there, pilgrim-traveller! Hold fast your haste.
‘The hour is come but not the man’, spake the Kelpie of your fate!”

“Your faerie tale is heresy”, dismissed the man of faith
“I will ford the Conan here, though her banks be bowed in spate.”

Death is the black horse that rides you – to your grave!
Death is the black horse that devours you – underneath the waves!

Down by the river’s bank, there stood the beast
Waiting, as dark as pitch and sleekit in majesty.

“A gift from God!” the weary pilgrim cried, and he mounted the steed
But hands stuck fast, fright filled his soul; too late, he realised his mistake…

Death is the black horse that rides you – to your grave!
Death is the black horse that devours you – underneath the waves!

Once only did the pilgrim shriek, as the Kelpie reared and turned
And with a noise like thunder, into the deepest churn it plunged…

Death is the black horse that rides you – to your grave!
Death is the black horse that devours you – underneath the waves!

And whence the sunrise came the crofter ventured to the Conan
And found the pilgrim’s heart steaming bloody in the morning.

---

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