The Weird of Finistere - Blood Ceremony

The stars, the stars are much maligned

And hidden from the day

At night a darkling fiend

Upon our sleeping village preys

It looms in

From neighb’ring wood

From thickets wan and grey

And from the first

We’ve known not rest

A single day

At night, at night, a crimson light

Within the manor home

It grows inside with naught to hide

And takes on ghastly form

As pale as death, its face a mask

Of terrors dreamed in flame

Valet and maid, they would not stay

The lord has flown away

He’s flown away

Oh, one by one

Its menace spun

Throughout this shadow bower

Here I remain, though rent in twain

Alone in my last hour

The Weird, the Weird of Finistere

Now here within my home

I fell its stare

And meet its glare

Its shadow my own

The Weird, the Weird of Finistere