The rooms are crowded the dances begin in the euphory of the

Party, the orgy frenetically takes place but the last room, the

Black one, is lonely

Solitary presence... an ebony clock... the mute echo of the pauses

After every lugubrious stroke

The black walls eclipse the room, the band interrupts an euphoric

Melody, wide open eyes under the mask are seeking after a veil of

Certitude, terro and uneasiness in the hearts, the strokes stop

The music plays again the dances get livelier, a playful shouting

Spreads somebody has forgotten, to someone else if's only a fain

Memory, time goes cruelly by

The pendulum-clock strucks midnight, the pauses are painfullly

Endless, the dances stop again, twelve long strokes call the

Attention to a lugubrious figure tall and slender wrapped in

A sudarium

The mask represents the red death

The bloodstained cloak, the broad forehead, a still corpse's face

Its glassy stare. It slowly moves with regal bearings as if it's

Stirred by a cold wind and passing it sows a cursed horror

Pestilence among the masters, pestilence among the servants

Pestilence among all the guests

An ona a death carpet it victoriously disappears in the black room