it was a stormy december night
the wind was howling
and god was singing with all his might,

the horses were shook
when they heard
a demon singing a flute

in the tales of the old
t'was a bad omen
but for us, we were lost in the moment

we didn't care for the demons looks
nor how he burned our books
all we knew - it was bottles work

in the mountains up high
we died that day
but the flute still remains

charming every man
with its play
be careful fellow man, its the devil's play.