Oliver Wakeman & Clive Nolan - The Curse Of The Baskervilles | Текст песни

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• Oliver Wakeman & Clive Nolan
• The Curse Of The Baskervilles

(Watson: Doctor Mortimer was by no means a typical country practicioner. He was clad in a professional, but rather slovenly fashion. His frock coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair and said:
"Kindly tell me the exact nature of the problem in which you demand my assistance."
And so we listened to the strangest tale of an ancient curse and the recent mysterious death of Sir Charles Baskerville.)

Here in my hand is a statement of fact
From a witness beyond reach of time
It alludes to Sir Hugo of Baskerville Hall
And his cold unforgivable crimes
A man of foul humour, his temper was legend
His treatment was rough to the servants and peasants
But his judgement time came on Michaelmas eve
In so violent a way that few could believe...

Torn to the bone by the seed of his vanity
Tatters and shreds from the greed and depravity
Stared in the face of the nightmare before him
No one to call to, no one to save him from
Fear and pain - The blindness of terror
Agonised screams that would echo forever
Death by the Hound that was sent out from Hell
Death by the Hound that had hunted the Baskerville downs

Sir Hugo was drawn to a girl who lived near
His feelings, however, were not so returned
So he and some friends of a like disposition
Abducted the wench for their clumsy seduction
They laughed as their conquest was locked in a room
They drank themselves mad as she waited her doom
But driven by fear of their shouts in the night
She climbed down the wall and ran for her life...

Torn to the bone by the seeds of his vanity
Tatters and shreds from the greed and depravity
Death by the Hound that was sent out from Hell
Death by the creature from Hell

Hugo gave chase with his friends far behind
Crossing the moor on his own
He was angry and mean with revenge on his mind
Crossing the moor on his own
He found the girl crumpled, dead from fatigue
She lay there but not on her own
As he turned he was met by two red blazing eyes
It was here on the moor
Here on the moor
Here on the moor that he died

Dead on the ground lies Sir Charles, torn and battered
Crumpled and bloody, in shreds and in tatters
Wide staring eyes from the nightmare before him
No one to call to, no one to save him from
Fear and pain - blindness of terror
Agonised screams that will echo forever
Death by the Hound that was sent out from Hell
Death by the Hound that had hunted the Baskerville downs

(Watson: With Holmes accepting the case, we immediately went to meet Sir Henry Baskerville, heir to the estate. He had recently arrived from America and was residing at the Northumberland Hotel. We were shown to his rooms and he greeted us with a look of bewilderment on his face. Following a brief introduction, he handed Holmes a mysterious letter, which had been anonymously delivered. It read:
"As you value your life or your reason, keep away from the moor." An ominous warning indeed.)

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