A final drink to end the day, a waning moon to light the way. The hair it falls into my eyes, and soon the last clear mem'ry dies. Then somewhere off the reg'lar track I sense some sort of foul attack. There right atop a hill they call The Gallow Proud stands a crowd. I find a place to watch the scene, and try to fight a fear so mean. The crowd grows bigger as I wait, now all I have to trust is fate. 'Cause legend says that all the grudge of men hanged right there by the judge - someday will bring them back to life, and in the night make things right. And now I see the ghouls move down, I get the feeling I will drown. But legend says the pure and grand will all be spared, so I still stand. Now sober'd up by eyes that burn, suddenly I see one of them turn He walks this way, flashing an axe, I hear a crack - then all is black.

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