| A candle burns by an old man's chair | |
| Burns on and on, but there's no one there | |
| The light that comes from the old man's home | |
| They say | |
| Started when he passed away | |
| Sits right there on the old man's desk | |
| Pass days and weeks, hasn't burned out yet | |
| That candle fire by the dead man's chair | |
| So strange | |
| Wonder how it burns that way | |
| Oh, what a cursed and blessed sight | |
| Possessed, enchanted phantom light | |
| It shines so small and it burns so bright | |
| And strange | |
| Don't know how it burns that way | |
| That candle fire by the dead man's chair | |
| They say | |
| Ever since he passed away |
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