A black carriage rushing through the mountains of carpathia
The only passenger - the main character of this drama

Titan wood and haunted hill, vales in which the wolf doth kill
Wisps that in the morass glow mounts with diadems of snow
Fog that swirls o'er moor and heath, the tawny owl sings from the trees
From the ponds the old toad calls, this is where our drapery falls
Eight hooves that pound the midnight groove

Over stock and stone a carriage
That winds upward the mountain pass, deep into the wild
Crushing stone and shatt'ring bough under wooden wheel
And moonlight breaks in spruce and fir and paints the night unreal

With ruthless hand and turbid eyes
The coachman drives his brute that snarls and sniffs
But rushes on to escape that spook
Six hours as the raven flies - still - to acquinted land
Six hours till the Sun wiil rise and morning shall ascent

Sleep my dear, don't bother thee with the idle talk of curse
And evil blood that runeth in thy veins
In the cabin lies asleep unblessed by fevered dreams
Traveller on his way home towards the Sun's first beams