Dry trees, tortured by the sands of ancient times,

Now no more than a gleam of life keeps them up.

Until where the sutle light of his gas lamp could
reach,
That was what his eyes insists to see.

And followed him,
A strange feeling
That he had already
Trailed that dark road.

In spite of never
Had put his feet in
The Land of the Deads.

He goes on
In shorts steps,
The darkness of that valley
Amplified each noise,

Each step on the wet leaves,
Now resounded
Like the hammer hitting
The boiling anvil.


Bridge
He didn’t look back
Afraid of what could be seen

He continue ahead (just)
Because he don’t know the way back.

Chorus
Is this a nigthmare or a sign?
This nightmare torment him every night
A trick of the Unknown or the truth?
Frightened by that bitter sight

Suddenly, further on
Two red points scintillated
(By) the light of the old lamp,
Something right ahead,
Dressed in darkness,
Hiding between the trees