There was a man some time ago,
Who lived all by himself.
When walking the moors one day he saw,
The fairy queen of Thelf.
Confused and ‘fraid he kept afar,
Not knowing what to do,
When one by one, she made a call Her army surely grew.
He crept away, behind a tree,
Hiding from her men,
When one by one the soldiers came,
They killed him there and then.
His blood was fresh and pure and red,
The army bath in it,
For on this night in the cold of Thelf,
Not a single star is lit.
One by one the army march,
Back to their old queen,
Small and dark, the night is old,
A perfect night to dream.