Text: Voltaire. The Night.

the day is the wife of my elude
the one to whom i should be *
although forwarn my peers and king
i always give in to the night
mother always warned me such
being a nocturnal soul
besides just being simply strange
faults* from some illness of the mind

but the night, she calls me
she calls me
she calls me
she calls me
she slaves in her velvet dress
pulls me towards her in the dark
while the others rest
while the others rest
while the others rest

heed the call, the time has come
for you children of the night
gather round like suckling dogs
mother's come, she is the night
come with me to the other side
make the girl in black your bride

cuz the night, she calls me
she calls me
she calls me
she calls me
she slaves in her velvet dress
pulls me towards her in the dark
while the others rest
while the others rest
while the others rest

it still seems very strange to me
mother, quiet lonely streets
and draped in all their mystery
could be so sweet and comforting

the night, she calls me
she calls me
she calls me
she calls me
she slaves in her velvet dress
pulls me towards her in the dark
while the others rest
while the others rest
while the others rest