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In the old forest, the sun has died
and the moonglow banishes courage and pride
from the hearts of men, for through its eerie beams
echo horrid screams

Up from the caverns, out of the fog
come the trollfolk sniffing my trail like dogs
their breath on my neck
Howling for my blood

I pray for the morning sun to turn these
ghastly creatures into stone
I fly for my life or join the nameless dead
beneath the roots and the bones

They surround me in a clearing
and now I can see their gore-caked fangs
eager to have my flesh sliced

So I draw my sword of equal size
and raise it to the sky
Their meal will come at a price

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