Up on that hill and under the moon
the ancient stones are holding back time.
I know within the castle’s a crypt,
and therein lies the restless undead.
They wait for night, but in the new day
we find the work their evil has laid:
they kill and eat our flocks and our men,
and some they take with them to the hill.
Upon that hill the dead will not die.
And so it’s time to search out the night;
we’ll lift our swords in the firelight.
The dead too long have held us in fear
and sucked the life from us every year.
So we will slay those corpses up there,
and so will end this dreadful nightmare.
It’s time we burn those wicked, old stones,
and turn to ash those ancient, dead bones.
So lets go mad under this full moon.