So you dance the jig of life in a dead man's arms
Unable to stop, like a merry-go-round horse
He has paid the fee, like any other man
And deserves no less than the nimblest of your moves

The light of the moon on the fiddler's bowing arm
Is a pendulum of doom in the escalating race
For to fall before he wakes is to lose the both of you
And to wait until too late is to lose the game yourself

You think that you could love him with more colour in his cheeks
And his eyelashes a-flicker with the passion there beneath
Now the music it is fading and you know that you're asleep
But the last thing on your mind will be the first thing that he sees