T'was a dark night, the moon was bright,
The nightmares held their breaths.
The poeple sleeping tossed and turned as death doth walk the streets,
His scythe a'knocking, on the doors, arousing startled wakers, from their slumber riseth.
If the dead could rise again, this night for sure they'd choose, for death in black doth walk the streets, he knocks on every door.
His cloak of shadows, drawn about him, his scythe glints eer-i-lly, his footsteps echo, paving shakes as death doth walk the streets.
He kills without a single thought, he claims his victims many, death doth not care for righteous doers, his death-touch is without choice, he kills us all in time we're dead before we wake.