Such a dark grim stare,
haunts you, the one so fair,
as you climb the silver stairs,
which escaping none yet dares.
Yet do not be troubled,
you so fair, and debonnaire,
for all those who have struggled,
only heightened their despair.
Yet don’t cry my fair sweet maiden,
for a merciful lord I am,
and though my love has none yet craven,
the most romantic man I am.
I own fields as well as mountains,
yet a lonely lord am I,
forever in my hallowed mountain,
an immortal lord am I,
a lord who loves and yet is hated,
the lord of the dead am I.