| Tunes of mendacity whispers | |
| throughout the gloom, like echoes | |
| of mystery or a lullaby of doom | |
| An illusion of pleasure | |
| an illusion of pain | |
| Yield to the beauty and | |
| soon you will waltz with the dead | |
| Come yes you and listen to | |
| my melody. Say can you do | |
| another such sweet harmony | |
| Deep in the mist you can hear him | |
| softly playing his strings in order | |
| to snatch your soul far away | |
| Deep in the mist you reveal him | |
| a naked shape of peace as he plays | |
| you a song to lure you to stay | |
| Such nimble fingers that play | |
| upon the fiddle. In shadows they | |
| linger like the darkest of riddles | |
| Deep in the mist you can hear him, | |
| hearken not to the sound | |
| from upon his luring strings. | |
| Deep in the mist you reveal him, | |
| the fiddler of the lost and drowned | |
| that slip you a song to sing. |
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