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It was almost three in the morning,
A heavy mist was in the air,
The pilgrim pulled his cloak around him
And made his way across the square.
The hollow sound of his leather boots
Echoed dully on cobbled stone,
A lonely sound there in the mist,
But that pilgrim was not alone!

 
  His companion, cowled and wraith like
Walked in silence near his side,
He claimed he owned the pilgrimís soul
And would collect it when he died.
So for now, the spectre followed
A mere half a step behind
The pilgrim searched for sanctuary
Claiming the Devilís contract remained unsigned.
 
  The pilgrim had been tempted,
And in part he was to blame.
He had wished his creditors all to Hell
To be consumed in the Devilís flame!
The creditors ceased to plague him
And good fortune came his way,
So too did a tall cowled wraith,
His companion from that day.
 
  The pilgrim crossed the deserted square,
His aim, to break the Devilís hold
By seeking sanctuary in a church
Now that he was grey and old.
He had enjoyed the Devilís gifts
For many a year and day,
The wraith then took a half step forward
And stole the pilgrimís soul away.
 
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