The Devil & The Huntsman

Young man came from hunting faint, tired and weary What does ail my Lord, my dearie? Oh, brother dear, let my bed be made

For I feel the gripe of the woody nightshade

Men need a man would die as soon Out of the light of a mage's moon But it's not by bone, but yet by blade Can break the magic that the devil made

And it's not by fire, but was forged in flame Can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain

This young man he died fair soon By the light of a hunter's moon 'Twas not by bone, nor yet by blade Of the berries of the woody nightshade

Oh Father dear lie and be safe From the path that the devil made