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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