Old Corpse Road
			'Tis Witching Hour... as Spectres We Haunt This Kingdom

1. 'Tis Witching Hour


2. The Cauld Lad of Hylton

His Lordship summoned the stable boy
"Have my horse prepared by dawn"
"Do not fail me"
No sight nor sound come the morn'
His steed stood lonely, unadorned
The wretched lad, Robert Skelton

The Cauld Lad of Hylton
Here's the cloak and here's a hood
The Cauld Lad of Hylton
He will do no more good

Dashing to the castle grounds
To the stable he is bound
"Sorry Sir I've overslept"
The Master turned around and glared
The useless child, his temper flared
He reaches for his riding crop
Swiftly striking the young boy's head
Baron Hylton struck him dead

Woe is me! Woe is me!
The acorn is not yet
Fallen from the tree,
That's to grow the wood,
That's to make the cradle,
That's to rock the bairn,
That's to grow to a man,
That's to lay me.

He gathered up the frail boy's corpse
And dragged him to an unused well
Cast into grimness
Passed oppressive walls he fell
In stagnant water, his ruined body dwells
His restless spectre departs the flesh

Under the striking September sun
On a bleak autumnal morn', his bones are found
The Baron is tried for Skelton's murder
An alibi is found by an old farm worker
An unjust travesty, Hylton walks free!
Soon afterwards came strange events
He began to haunt the castle
Casting ash upon the floor
His likeness in the soot was drawn
Smashing plates and slamming doors
Chamber pots spilled on the floor
Sugared salt and peppered beer
Topsy turvy mischievous pranks
Ethereal lights within the chambers
Seeping under old oak doors
A naked boy, a ghostly sound
"I'm Cauld, I'm Cauld" he cried aloud

With knowledge gathered from ancient lore
A silban vesture laid upon the floor
As midnight invoked the witching hour
He took up the cloak and was no longer dour
At the first crow of cock he vanished
The Cauld Lad of Hylton was now banished


3. Hag of the Mist

A spectral entity, of Cymric folklore
A hideous hag, who haunts Welsh families

Shrieking, wailing, screaming, crying
Lamenting the souls of the dying
Dreary moaning, wrathful keening
My child, my child
Coming from a bleak dark mist
Up to the window sill
Of those who have long been ill
My wife, my wife
Shrieking, wailing, screaming, crying
Lamenting the souls of the dying
Dreary moaning, wrathful keening
My love, my love
Flapping wings against the pane
Calling she repeats their name
Harbinger of certain death
I hear her scream

The night hag haunts our family
Her keening is our curse
For generations in this place
We've heard her dreadful verse
Our father's fathers pass the tale
Of Goo-rakh-uh-hree-bun
She will not leave our family
Until her work is done

Torn and black dishevelled hair
Lank and withered arms and claws
Darkened eyes and blackened teeth
Ghastly leathered bat like wings
Her figure thin, and crooked back
Trailing robes of obsidian black
Tattered vestments adorn her bust
She's come to turn your soul to dust

Invisible to all men
But those of the bloodline
We oft' encountered the beast
At crossroads and lonely screams
Splashing and agitating water
With her long bloodless hands
Stalking quietly beside us
Our eternal dark companion

Sleep silent my child in the cradle of the dusk
As the moon bathes thee in her gentle veiled majesty
Sleep silent my child in the warmth of my arms
Fire embers that fortell the time
As the candle ebbs away
The trees are yearning, for the summer breeze
I kiss your brow and fall to my knees
Tears burning my skin tonight, hold on my dear
The soft caress of morning light will soon be here
Sleep silent my child, as the seasons change
The winds blow wild amongst the winter's rage
The hag of the mist, this families sage
Arrives like thunderous storm
Carrying somber plague
She is gone


4. The Buried Moon


5. The Crier of Claiffe, Pt. 1: The Wild Voice Came


6. The Crier of Claiffe, Pt. 2: The Crier of Claiffe

In the heart of Cumbria, lays the lake of Windermere
A desolate and windswept place, named after Vinandir
Over the centuries the ferrymen have rowed
From ferry Nab to Sawrey they would often go
Travelling through morning mist, guided by a lonely bell
The ferrymen returned this day with an eerie tale to tell

Tearing across the wave
They heard the maniac rave
Onward he leapt, in a furious glee
And past the house he swept
To whistle in the tree
Few quiet lulls did he afford
More quiet by contrast
With force redoubled then he roared
A furious shuddering blast
Like a frenzied beast of prey
Ere he sped his trackless way
Another song be sung! Another cup be full!
But suddenly within a lull...

A legend arose from tragedies of sailing boats that sank
47 souls were lost to a murky black abyss
Upon the wooded heights of the western bank
The echoes of this horror manifested in the mist
Travelling through twilight fog, guided by a lantern's light
The ferrymen returned this night but couldn't tell of his plight

The Crier of Claiffe - A chilling call from the mist
A ghostly hooded figure standing on the cliffs
The Crier of Claiffe - A desperate summoning voice
To travel across the water for money or fate, your choice?

Again, again, that wild voice came
A boat! A boat! In heaven's name
Again, again, that wild voice came
A boat! A boat! In heaven's name

The long night through
Tho' his lips have moved
He cannot speak
To those he loved
He covers his wild eyes
To hide some hateful sight
Ere the first streak
Of morning light
The mountains clad
He has gone raving mad
And, raving mad, he dies

But what he saw, on that night of fear
Over the ferry of Windermere
None evermore shall know
'Tis the secret of the rolling wave
'Tis buried in the ferryman's grave
But every night, as darkness fell
And all the long night through
A thousand tongues were ready to tell
And swear that the tale was true
Came the awful cries of that wild holloa
Over the ferry from the opposite shore


7. The Crier of Claiffe, Pt. 3: The Secret of the Rolling Waves


8. Isobel - Queen of Scottish Witches

In the still moonlight - they danced naked
By the flickering firelight - bursting embers
The witches coven of Auldearn
They gathered on star gilded grass
13 wicked souls, they are spellbound
Bound eternally to their familiars
In altered form - they ascend to the skies
Then comes the dawn - as the fire dies

Isobel - her pale soft skin
Isobel - flowing auburn hair
Isobel - a voluptuous form
Isobel - I invoke thee
Isobel - Queen of Scottish witches
Baptised in her church as the Devil's mistress
She desecrated the concept of their holy rite
And bathed in blood from her Master's mark

Through mounds and caverns in a mystic kingdom
Where she travelled on to the underworld
In the faery realm beneath the hills
There she learned to fly climbing cornstraws
Horse and hattock in the Devil's name
For the nymph goddess she danced within Elphame
Entertained by the queen in a dreamtime world
As the witch's powers grew and unfurled

Isobel - dark temptress
Isobel - eyes of fire
Isobel - seductive grace
Isobel - I invoke thee
Isobel - Queen of Scottish witches
Defiled by the Devil's icey seed
Drinking her blood, a vampiric kiss
Raping the christian sacraments in bliss

Their cursed weapon formed from flint
The Devil shaped them with his hands
"Shoot these arrows in my name
And they shall not go home again"
With elf shot and no bow to use
They sprang them from their thumbs
"I shoot the man in the master's name
And he shall not go home again"

There she stood, in all her wicked glory
Staring up at the cursed sky
She stared with those demonic eyes
Summoning her master to rise

The master stares down from above
Casting down his spiteful wrath
"Answer to my beck and call
And follow down the left hand path"
Isobel - Queen of Scottish witches
Dark temptress of the night with eyes of fire
Isobel - Queen of Scottish witches
Pale beauty of my dark desires


9. Glassensikes at Witching Hour

I was sitting by the taverns hearth
With a pint of finest ale
The bell tolled of the witching hour
And thus began my tale

I step out of the ale house into the midnight air
To summon a coach and horseman
To get me from here to there
No voice on the air in the blackened night
To foot I must alight
Stepping into the cobbled streets
I enter the Glassensikes
Foreboding trees obscure the sky
As the breeze begins to swell and rise
I wander onto stippin' stones
An icy warning chills my bones

I pray for passage through the night
To keep me safe from peril and plight
Spare these demons from my sight
On this path bereft of light
A blue flame rises from the marsh
And floats into my path
A headless gentleman now appears
I take flight into the mist
My heart now pounding I slow the pace
To ensure the spirit had not gave chase
For but a moment I felt safe
But the hauntings began again

How horrible to be balanced upon a stippin' stone
A waterlogged marsh on either side,
And a goblin / barghest in my way

Goblin / Barghest in my path
Grim as any river demon
Goblin / Barghest in my path
Take your leave or feel my wrath

The air now still I sigh and wait
For the next apparition to appear
The ghostly call of a near-by owl
And the cloud begins to clear
The moonlight bursts down from above
And illuminates a ghastly sight
A white lady stands, a white rabbit too
And chills me through and through
These creatures shimmer deathly pale
Guarding silently by the trees
The deceased damsel a forlorn figure
Points her finger accusing me
I stand alone in the silver moonlight
As the clouds tear across the sky
Wanting for an earthly companion
To walk along my side

The Glassenikes at witching hour
A frightful place to be
I pray that future drunken men
Won't suffer the same fate as me
A hulking foreboding terrace
Unlike anything else in town
Raised up in the distance
Now I know I'm homeward bound
Gaslights are marking Harewood Grove
With their amber glow
With the homely scent of an oak log fire
I've not got far to go

I pray for passage through the night
To keep me safe from peril and plight
Spare these demons from my sight
On this path bereft of light


10. As Spectres We Haunt This Kingdom