A potion for the weary
Travelers cold and dreary
Stumbling through the doors
A mysterious effect

Though the barman smiles
His gaze is full of guile
As he offers them a room
For their tired souls

At midnight there appearing
An apparition that is nearing
A soul’s decomposition
A harbinger of hell

Their faces froze in terror
To the room belong forever
At Death’s dingy tavern
Upon the gloomy hill

A warning to the traveler:
Heed the stormy thunder
Turn back at the crossroads
From Agony’s Estate