It's the eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
Who is this that is coming? Coming through the fog?
Who is this that is coming? Like some weird up-standing dog?
Black gauze about its face, goggle eyes and funeral lace
Clawing hands, distorted form, like one the Maker had scorned
Never would I whistle for the likes of him
Never would I whistle for it would be a sin
To whistle up one who seems so strange, to whistle up one who seems so real
To whistle up such a creature, as would hound me at my heel?
It's the eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
Truffling through the trenches, truffling through the stench
Truffling through the leaf mulch, truffling with intent
Death has sent an errand-boy, Death has shot his bow
Death has made it very clear, He craves me down below
A strange scent writhes about, writhes about its head
Vaguely yellow, I think it is, the odour of the dead
Gilding flesh with loathsome sweat, like sweat upon a horse
Galloping madly off to Hell, though we're almost there of course
It's the eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The goggles slip down a jot, revealing blackened eyes
Its voice seeks to reassure me, which comes as some surprise
"But I'm not your friend!' I cry in fear, 'Leave me now, leave me here!
For I would rather die alone without my legs than go back home!"
I reach for Mr Webley, I reach for my comfort gun
For I will finish what they started, now I cannot run
"No!" he cries, the black veiled dog, leaping through the mist
But I am spry so I let fly, before he grabs my wrist
It's the eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
Who is this that is coming? Coming through the fog?
Who is this that is coming? Like some weird up-standing dog?
Black gauze about its face, goggle eyes and funeral lace
Clawing hands, distorted form, like one the Maker had scorned
Never would I whistle for the likes of him
Never would I whistle for it would be a sin
To whistle up one who seems so strange, to whistle up one who seems so real
To whistle up such a creature, as would hound me at my heel?
It's the eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
Truffling through the trenches, truffling through the stench
Truffling through the leaf mulch, truffling with intent
Death has sent an errand-boy, Death has shot his bow
Death has made it very clear, He craves me down below
A strange scent writhes about, writhes about its head
Vaguely yellow, I think it is, the odour of the dead
Gilding flesh with loathsome sweat, like sweat upon a horse
Galloping madly off to Hell, though we're almost there of course
It's the eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The goggles slip down a jot, revealing blackened eyes
Its voice seeks to reassure me, which comes as some surprise
"But I'm not your friend!' I cry in fear, 'Leave me now, leave me here!
For I would rather die alone without my legs than go back home!"
I reach for Mr Webley, I reach for my comfort gun
For I will finish what they started, now I cannot run
"No!" he cries, the black veiled dog, leaping through the mist
But I am spry so I let fly, before he grabs my wrist
It's the eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
The eternal darkness of my death
The eternal black darkness of my death
The eternal bleak darkness of my death, that troubles me
×
![]()
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
