Every night,
The clock strikes twelve.
The Witching Hour,
Has Begun.
The sprites,
The spirits,
The ghouls come out,
To walk the streets of our world.

Every night,
At twelve o’clock,
My lover comes to wake me.
He lies with me,
Every night,
Stroking his babe’s head,
And whispering words
Of love to me.

Every night,
The clock strikes twelve.
The Witching Hour,
Has begun.
And every night
My lover comes.
Is he the Devil’s disciple?
Or is he an Angel fair?

Every night,
He hides his face
And comes only
In the dark.
My child is a bastard,
Born of sprites blood,
And shall never know
Nor bear his father’s name.

One night,
I shall see his face
And uncover
His dark secret.
And after that night,
He’ll never come
To lie with me
Again.