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Description
There's a fiddler
by the side of the road
whose fingers flicker flames,
whose eyes are ice cold,
his bow of darkest cherry wood,
his fiddle a Hellish-fire gold,
black hat perched on his head
like a gargoyle atop some
haunted castle's hoard

He'll play a tune for you
for quite a small price,
but beware good friend:
for the Black Angel's Dance
may cost you your life;
your soul will be cast
in the deep black pits
where all happiness is in the past
and the Devil's minions
uncurl their whips

You'll be trapped in this place
with agonizing marks of disgrace
stretched across your back
and etched in your face;
so take heed dear friend:
don't go straying 'round that bend,
for if you do
your life is sure to end.

Description
There's a fiddler
by the side of the road
whose fingers flicker flames,
whose eyes are ice cold,
his bow of darkest cherry wood,
his fiddle a Hellish-fire gold,
black hat perched on his head
like a gargoyle atop some
haunted castle's hoard

He'll play a tune for you
for quite a small price,
but beware good friend:
for the Black Angel's Dance
may cost you your life;
your soul will be cast
in the deep black pits
where all happiness is in the past
and the Devil's minions
uncurl their whips

You'll be trapped in this place
with agonizing marks of disgrace
stretched across your back
and etched in your face;
so take heed dear friend:
don't go straying 'round that bend,
for if you do
your life is sure to end.