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On a moonless night, when the stars burn bright,
in a cold November sky,
I will wait for you as the fog drifts through
where the dead of Llanwelly lie.
Among these gray stones I dwell all alone,
a ravenous minion of Hell.
I live through your death, and my very breath
is derived from your lifeless shell.
In a cold dark room of this ancient tomb,
I await the darkest hour.
I shun the light and I hide from life,
but your flesh I yearn to devour.
For you are a creature of flesh and bone,
and I am a phantom that walks alone,
but our paths will meet ‘neath the lych-gate tree
when the Reaper brings you to Llanwelly and me.
O, it’s a moonless night, and the stars burn bright,
in a velvet November sky,
and I wait for you as the fog drifts through
where the dead of Llanwelly lie.
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