| Beneath grey skies
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| Where the ravens croak and circle
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| Between the crooked swamp birches
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| Lies ancient burial ground
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| The sun never shines there
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| Every day fine rain drizzles
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| Only a few among the living know
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| How to find the path there
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| Across the morass dank mist drifts
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| Through grass and wet soil Kurbads is wading
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| Everything there seems dreadful and gloomy
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| Woeful moans resound in the mist
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| Red eyes flash in the dusk
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| Ghostly figures twist and sway
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| Like an isle in the sea
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| Covered with green moss
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| There in the middle of the swamp
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| Sleeps a giant…
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| Menacing and grim in the bog stands the Stone Sentinel
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| And there’s nowhere further to go
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| Menacing and grim in the bog stands the Stone Sentinel
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| It keeps gates to the Underworld closed
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| If you can lift and roll it aside
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| A black passage will be seen
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| Only those who are fearless enough
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| Dare to descend down below
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| — «What's up, Kurbads, has your heart sunk into your
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| boots yet?»
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| — «To hell with it, I am climbing down!»
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| Be warned, devils
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| Kurbads is coming
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| Soon, heads will roll
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| As the Devilslayer starts to work |