Get out, you old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness.
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended. My luck, that'll be the landlord after my heirs prefer to spend the 750 pounds on hookers and booze...
