Above the snowcovered cottages
Through murky night he flies upon the wings of a bat
Nefarious hunter, who calls the rats with an ossesous pipe
In times of plague
Bringer of putrefaction, in cerements of the grave
Two hearts dwell within his chest
Villages and farmhouses fall
Beneath his phantasmic touch
Rumours say that he descends from the north
From the castle of sorrows, in the phantoms' land
Where his cold eyes
Watch the mountainsides
During solitary evenings he recollects
The lost centuries
When his race plundered
The wide surrounding lands
Today he remains the only one
In his mouldy crypt
In the eve of St. George's day
When blueish blazes glow over hidden treasures
Peasants and carriages disappear
On the borders of his demesne