You call me friend so gently,
You do deceive like those Goblins,
Over by the hill, same shade as their skin,
Me, by your songs, you shall never win.
Get away from me you bard,
Whose songs pierce my hardening heart,
I wish for none of what you speak, you lie,
Speaking blessing, but wishing I die!
Concern fills me,
Come, come, come,
Dwell thee not,
In hues and shades that, so dark,
Surely do hide some evil,
That moves there,