There is a spirit, I have heard

That roams the moor at night

A lonely soul, he comes and goes

No fairy lithe or sprite.

But dark and ghoulish, barely there

He mists along the moor  

And on the wind you can but hear

His moaning mournful lure.

I hurry back from whence I came

Too late, I race the sun

As golden rays shoot through the tor

Upon the path I run.

With each cold gust he scores my neck

With icy fingernails

The fog grows thick to swallow me

On the wind I hear him wail.

Faster now, I stumble forth

Until on moss I stray

The softness of it startles me

Then earth begins to sway.   

I hear a crack, the ground gives way

A bog to me unseen

Foul water seeps into my soul

And as I fall I scream.

I grasp the brush to stay afloat

Gorse cuts are deep and grave

It forms a crown above my head

In madness now I rave.

The shrieking ghoul drowns out my screams

The sun it leaves the sky

And in the cold and blackening night

I prepare myself to die.

This was not the end that I had thought

When I had left this day

The gorse it cannot hold me as

I slowly sink away.

The spirit rails above my head

Triumphant once again

And on the moor reverberates

His drunken curse on men.