| That night the stars shot madly from
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| Their spheres and we’re raging like a violent storm
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| And the moon that was no crescent but
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| His horns were visible within the circumference
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| One saw more devils vastest hell can hold
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| Within moonshine we left to bury the dead
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| The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve
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| The pestilence has taken our eyesight
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| And our graves are gaping wide
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| Everyone sets forth his dying sprite
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| And the church way paths to glide
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| Through dead bodies — nor rich or poor
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| Anymore with stolen pride
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| Under black age toil we live
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| Oh scornful masters we leave our homes
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| Under black age toil our sweat runs bold
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| Let the pestilence resolve our end
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| We won’t leave our fathers land
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| We won’t learn trial patience for a customary cross
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| We’ve abandonded to relieve and heal
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| Even strong men with their hearts of steel
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| And the beggars, fools our knights and kings
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| Met the demon with this blackened wings |