A wicked fellow in father's room
His voice with darkness announcing doom.
The boy behind the curtain easy to find
losing his father, his sight and his mind

As a man with no fear, for a woman he cares
But the heaviest footsteps head up the stairs.
The fellow so dreadful with that croaking throat
Hawking those glasses from inside his coat.

Sneering motions, laughter so hideous
That ash-grey coat, it is Coppelius...

This must be a dream, a phantasy of fever
That beauty of the moon, a pleasant thought of love

While thoughts of the puppet fade from his mind
His glasses work their magic, again he goes blind
The ash-grey coat staring out of the crowd
Those screams of death, sickening and loud...

Sneering motions, laughter so hideous
That ash-grey coat, it is Coppelius...

Sneering laughter, hateful and nausious?
That coat disappears, where is Coppelius?

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