1849

A bitter chill runs up my spine
the autumn leaves surround me
A certain thrill crosses my mind
I feel that peace has found me

Cold windy nights of smoky breath
when memories are floating
All Hallow's frights, that air of death
I find my bright soul doting

Une marche funèbre, fingers ring
such a heart-haunting thing.
Une fille macabre, faintly sings
soaring high on bat's wings.