The path I walk upon is not the same,
And the laughs from my camp grow dim,
And I do not recognise the trees or the lake,
And the night time stars are to rest.
Above me the deep vastness of midnight decends,
And I feel shadows walking at my back,
And the cry of a hound sends a chill to my blood,
Away from the fire and my friends.
All of the bushes turn into men,
Who slink in my wake in the dark,
And all of the walls become nightmares strong,
And trees hide wraiths clad in blood.
The old growth oaks stand vacant, yet awake,
Watching the wind foul my path,
And the ful moon in the sky sends a shudder to my spine,
And my seream would never be heard.
I quicken my pace, and hasten my stride,
Yet nothing in the night looks the same,
And I thank my luck for the weapon by my side,
As the night is closing in again.