Fatal is the blow
That cuts deep the wounds
From which blood doth flow
And wherein death blooms
Who halts to listen well
To the shrill, distant cry?
For whom doth aged bell
Toll its haunting reply?
Ghostly apparition stares
With vengeful malcontent.
Its horrid finger bares
Blame to its dark intent.
Haunted is the lost one
Who at death\'s door awaits.
Lo, the evil that\'s won;
It ne\'er dissipates.