Besedila: Notre Dame. Le Théâtre Du Vampire. A Sleighride Through Transylvanian Winterland.

Ride, ride, ride
Through murky spruce forests where every tree seems to whisper "his" name
Goes a hazardous horse-drawn sleigh-ride, the coachman's fingers frozen stiff at the reins

Passing landscapes of impaled bodies, it's human scarecrows by birds
Eaten bare as the cargo must be brought fore sunrise cannot stop before this Dracula's lair

The sleigh onward ploughing through crusty swirling snow being
Watched from the edging black forest, sinister eyes in hundreds glow

All at once in an unanimous howling before they team up as to yield
Not to kill no realization of a hell frozen over can make him stop until his task is fulfilled

Ride, ride, ride,
Embraced by darkness in the form of a swarm of bats
Must be something 'bout that coffin he's carrying, that stalks these predators, some devilish pact

Pre-dawn and the horses are struggling half-dead across a suspending bridge
Along the winding trail torches has been lit, ill-omened sparkling glow marks the ridge

Make haste - there's no time to waste, the upward spiral leads to Castle Dracul
In his pocket burns his wife's wedding ring still on her finger - now the circle is full

At arrival there's a group of gypsies, had a minor accident when bringing it inside
In the coffin lies the creepy stranger, in all it's beauty now the sun arise

Rise, rise, rise