Tale In The Crypt
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Carriages knock atop the cobblestone.
Mist rouses and horse manes wave like banners.
The coach riders know I journey alone.
They peer, passing gothic statues and lanterns.
And as melodic hooves march on their way,
The dark speaks, befallan starless display,
"Come home, Carpathia...stay,
This night, Carpathia...stay.
Black horizons drape the October field.
Streets are mazes, where the candlelight shines.
Shutters slumber closed and doorways are chilled,
Where the night birds perch, rocking prophetic eyes.
And as the birds take flight to find the moon,
He calls from lost depths of the darkly noon,
"Come home, Carpathia...soon,
This night, Carpathia...soon."