The souls are approaching their destinies
Trembling in darkness and lost
By the Acheron river they gather confused

And slowly the ferry arrives
A man silhouette through the sulfurean mists
On the boat that carries the dead

Its voice comes profoundly
Resounding in the air
In awe the shadows retreat


A figure in black
Fiery and grim

Tall, skinny old man
Charon (lunga e sfuma sulla prossima parola)


Woe to you
Wicked spirits! Hope not
Ever to see the sky again

I come to take you
To the other shore across
Into eternal darkness, there to dwell

In fierce heat and in ice

Sighs... lamentations...

Loud Moans... Dispair...

The old man is here to collect them all

Those spirits, faint and naked, gashing their teeth
Demoniac figure with coal burning eyes
Beckons and strikes with his oar

All those who linger on the dark wretched strand
Voice outcrying deep and hoars


Chorus