'twas an evening, not in any way particular or rare
With a glass in my hand I sat in my favourite chair
As I watched the dancing flames within the fireplace
The inevitable tear from a dire loss ran down my face

Winter up ahead, everything I could see was decay
Friend Dworek and I rejoiced in a miserable dismay
'twas an evening, not in any way particular or rare
A thousand regrets from the abomination in the chair

As in my dreams, as they reaped their meadows of hate
As I watched my shadow, and as I succumbed to my fate
As it danced on the wall, maybe it was only my mind
When an eerie voice in the air spoke words of my kind

"Alas, will the angel ever carry me under her wing?
Will the bitter autumn bloom out in a beautiful spring?"
As the shadow spoke unto me with a tongue of sadness
I could not possibly foresee the subsequent madness

'twas an evening, not in any way particular or rare
When my tearful eyes met that cold, obnoxious stare
I could see the angel with eyes of the deepest brown
Venus, through Vesta, and Morpheus showed me her frown

Then, as she vanished, Cupid lie dead on the floor
Thus, I emptied my bottle with a craving for more
'twas an evening, not in any way particular or rare
When I slowly turned to the blight, into despair

A final thought, as my glass fell to the ground
Never again would I see her face or hear the sound
That called my name, that eerie voice in the air
'twas my death, not in any way particular or rare