At birth a witch lain on me monstrous spells
and I have trod strange highroads all my days
turning my feet to grey, unholy ways
I grope for stems of broken asphodels.

High on the rims of bare, fiend-haunted fells
I follow cloven tracks that lie ablaze
and ghosts have led me [bad word] 
the moonlight’a haze
to talk with demons in the granite [bad word] 

I am the singer in the mist
lost and alone

Seas crash upon dragon-guarded shores
bursting in crimson moons of burning spray
and iron castles open to me their doors
and serpent-women lure with harp and lay
the misty waves shake now to phantom oars
seek not for me, I sail to meet the day.