On coal black steeds of mist,
With mighty reins of ice,
The lords of old do fly,
Above the moors and over the lands,
They streak black across the sky,

Of wizards, creatures, and myth,
Of the hosts of Hell itself,
From Hade's rank of frey,
They watch as joyful sprites,
Guide true the hounds of night,
Along their ruby-eyed way,

Bedazzlement and fear their legacy,
Even the ocenas hold back their tides,
With frigid pockets of cold,
They lessen the ranks of the bold,
Where the silver shadows do ride,

The harsh herald of the black crow's cry,
By all is heard in the dead of night,
Through riots and monsoons,
The stallions ride on and bray,
As from all sides the cries of the wolves do bay,
Seeing before them frightsome shadows,
Across the face of the harvest moon,

As the night of fear passes,
Roses fall through the frosty air,
The dark sky of velvet made,
With shades of ebony all inlaid,
Of immortal gifts beware.