A narrow pathway filled with gypsies.
The demon dances on the tops of their heads,
While the devil waits around the corner,
his fiddle in hand.

Young, and beautiful with skin so fair;
A golden scarf taming the tempestuous curls.
Walking with the caravan, the road has become her home.
Enervated, but also inspired by the thinning soles.
She sings a tune that only the moon knows,
He will steal her away, to where the thorns and thickets grow.

The bottle cool, like the night.
Clouds hiding the stars, concealing the gods 
So she brings the poison to her lips,
And removes the veil that separates the truth from lies.
She sings a tune that only the moon knows,
He will steal her away, but for now he waits and waits
While he hides.

Crawl on your hands and knees,
You will soon adapt and learn how to survive
Without having to stand straight and upright.
With each step she ages, and memories fade.
Her spine begins to bend just like the branches
Found deep in the forest, where she has decided to stay.
Alone in the night, alone in the day.
She sings a tune that only the moon knows,
And He has already stolen her away.

Her feet are now naked, and filled with the thorns.
A pain so natural, that it becomes comfortable.
He takes her in his arms, and her heart melts into the distance.
The curls have transformed in only a moment,
Wrinkles as deep as the river, and hair as white as the full moon.
She’s clenched in his claws, and caught in his grasp.
Everyday she does his task, with hardly any flaws.

Her song is now whispered, and is faint like the breeze.
But the devil has practiced his fiddle, and is searching
For a new beauty to charm, and deceive.
She sings a tune that only the moon knows,
He has stolen her away, Old Nick is the future she chose.