Carriages knock atop the cobblestone
Mist rouses and horse manes wave like banners
The coach riders know I journey alone
They peer, passing gothic statues and lanterns
And as melodic hooves march on their way
The dark speaks, befallen starless display,
"Come home, Carpathia ... stay
This night, Carpathia ... stay."
Black horizons drape the October field
Streets are mazes where the candlelight shies
Shutters slumber closed and doorways are chilled
Where night birds perch, rocking prophetic eyes
And as the birds take flight to find the moon
He calls from lost depths of the darkly noon,
"Come home, Carpathia ... soon
This night, Carpathia ... soon."