Walk away from home you’ve known to arms that will hold tight
Like spider webs round precious prey who’ve lost the will to fight
Where women fair with jewels of gold upon their ugly snouts
Lead silly boys down folly’s path to suddenly find out
That lover’s dens are slaughter pens and perfumed beds can stink
For pleasure’s prize in unclean styes leaves quicker than you think
Beware young man the siren’s call that beckons come and eat
The dead are there in harlot’s lair who serves you devil’s treat
And when you’re spent with nothing left of all your good birthright
You’ll mourn at last with pleasure past and only pain in sight
Avoid my son, fast turn and run, before it is too late
A wicked foe would love to know tonight you’re on his plate
This is not love, this secret shove, that moves you toward her door
It is the Night, that hates the Light, and wants your soul for sure.