I am the weaver of souls, the master of fate
The doorman standing at Hell’s awful gate
The visitor that comes when you are in a state
Of pestilential, existential, infinite distrait

But never fear for I am fair
A player bound by wretched rules
The game I play, I say, you can too if you dare
But if you lose, within here you will stay

So I’ll arrange the board, don’t be bored
For you’re soon to meet your end
Cause in my game your ending’s all but penned
So sit down and listen to my awful keening chord

You well did try to win this game
But I’m a practiced, well, old fool
None have beat me, you still tried all the same
So this fleece you may not have the precious golden wool

For I am the weaver of souls, the master of fate
The doorman standing at Hell’s awful gate
The visitor that comes when you are in a state
To reap your soul and leave the rest in infinite distrait