Of their voice in the starry night.
I may strike from the calendar all of its dates,
And I rob every town of its name,
And rarely a letter but sadly relates
The tale of my terrible fame.
Oh, I know all the secrets that ever were told,
Till every unfortunate prays
That the book of omnipotent knowledge I hold
May be sealed to the end of my days.
On each written syllable, proudly I state,