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.