1. THE DRAMA OF THE WICKED

(instrumental)


2. SECRECIES IN DARKNESS

A black carriage rushing through the mountains of Carpathia.
The only passenger - the main character of this drama.

Titan wood and haunted hill, vales in which the wolf doth kill...
Wisps that in the morass glow mounts with diadems of snow...
Fog that swirls o'er moor and heath, the tawny owl sings from the trees...
From the ponds the old toad calls, this is where our drapery falls...
Eight hooves that pound the midnight groove...

Over stock and stone a carriage that winds upward the mountain pass, deep into the wild.
Crushing stone and shatt'ring bough under wooden wheel and moonlight breaks in spruce and fir and paints the night unreal.

With ruthless hand and turbid eyes the coachman drives his brute that snarls and sniffs but rushes on to escape that spook...
Six hours as the raven flies - still - to acquinted land...
Six hours till the sun wiil rise and morning shall ascent.

- Sleep my dear, don't bother thee with the idle talk of curse and evil blood that runeth in thy veins...
- In the cabin lies asleep unblessed by fevered dreams, traveller on his way home towards the sun's first beams...


3. CARPATHIA

The carriage finally arrives at its destination.
Our main character talks to a villigian of the region.

From the deepest valleys to the highest mountain peaks which the sun caress with care.
Carpathia ! All hail to thee !
Thy beauty is beyond compare...

When the soft white shrouds of morning dew lay down on the meadows green,
Thy prais is due, but keep thy poetry for the night you haven't seen
For when the sun doth set in Carpathia...
And the worm that gnaws the grave, crawls hence forth from gulf and cave
And when the moon doth rise in Carpathia...
Then the creature leaves the lair and the ghost is on the stair

For there is no such beauty in the morning light
Nor in the later hours of day
As when darkness fell in the deep pine woods
And the wolves go hunt their prey!

Ah, you should hear the sweet sullen song
Of the nightbirds call to the moon
And the glorious howling sound of the wind
In the wastes and all places marooned