Deep within the forest dark Lies a beast with baleful bark Feasting on a infant's soul Cross its path and pay the toll TURNAROUND: Aire! Gruagach! Aire! Gruagach! Pass not through the village gate Sun has set and day is late If you walk alone at night You meet black and grey and white Crouched upon a rock or tree It eats either you or me It needs neither knife nor bowl Drinks your blood out of your skull Eyes to flame a fearful red Claws to rend a body dead Teeth to strip your white bones bare They knit mittens from your hair They will tan your hide for shoes Boil your fat to grease their stews Singing shanties to your groans Playing pipes of hollowed bones Bridge: Run, hide, stay inside! Listen unto me! Dark sport is the court of the Unseelie! I have saved these words for last Learn them well and hold them fast Never venture from your bed Else your very soul is dead!