Pouring rain and howling wind
The elements are raging
The nightly storm is bending trees
Only ravens are out soaring
The villagers are deadly frightened
Sitting by their fire
Wincing every lightning's strike
But think of the watchman on the spire!
They say the undead walk the woods
Dreaded by these common men
Bodies from their graves returning
Risen through secret arts
We're damned! They told me:
"Master, the enemy walks
Roaring like a lion, the hunter walks
His fires burning to forge our demise"
Could it be that all things are coming to an end?
The sun sure seems to be setting on all of women born
But in this last stand, who is to stand on either side?
They are all but wooden figures, moves made by no cunning man
Checkmate thanks to the power hungry, doomed
Alas, a part of HIS sordid plan
Look to your left to join the hunt
And learn of long forgotten lore
Take wisdom with you to your grave
Have no regrets
Nevermore