The Inn

The Inn

A weary traveler through a dark night had ridden
Rest he longed, so at the first inn he stopped unbidden
It was not a richly place, yet clean and spacious
The host was a merry man and the hostess gracious

But in this dark hour no guests were up
Still, the traveler decided he would sup
And what a meal he had! None better…
Chops of lamb delicious and bread as soft as feathers

The wine was a most lovely color – dark, rich red
After all this gorging the traveler went to his bed
Just as his head hit the feather pillow soft
His weariness had won, to lands of sleep he wafts

A noise! There, in the dark!
No light! Not even a candle sparks…
“What is this foolishness, what trickery?
I’m lying in a coffin!? But this cannot be!

The curtains, the table – all has changed!
What on Earth is this? I feel so estranged…”
A lightning bolt, outside in darkness deep
Then rain descended, mixed with ice and sleet

The ice pounded on the roof, like drums in some forgotten song
The piano plays itself downstairs, sounds both weak and strong
A harpsichord! A flute! Harmonicas and violins
But this music was not of joy, more like foul sins…

The traveler ran down the stairs, now old and creaking
And a company of ghosts he saw below, all to each other speaking
But as soon they had spotted the unlucky sod
Everything fell silent and the traveler felt odd

The eyes of ghosts were piercing his soul
In this Ghost Opera he had no role
He tried to run, he tried to flee
Alas, not all can be free

Caught and tortured, exhausted to no end
To the depths of madness he had started to descend
Laughing one moment, in tears the next
By ghosts this traveler’s been hexed!

On the sixth day he chewed through the moldy rope
Alas, it was too late to ascend sanity’s slope
So laughing and delusional he rode forth
To the city from whence he came, he rode North

Now a beggar in these streets does walk, there, before me
Always starving, yet never dead – sane he cannot be
His story he told to me one midsummer’s day
But I know not where does the haunted inn lay

So when you are tired, dear friend
Ride on – on your stallion depend
Best not risk your neck for a meal and bed
Lest you want to end up a beggar, insane and half-dead