[RODERIC]
When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies –
When the footpads quail at the night-bird’s wail, and black dogs bay at the moon
Then is the spectres’ holiday – then is the ghosts’ high-noon!

[Chorus]
Ha! ha!
Then is the ghosts’ high-noon!

[RODERIC]
As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen
From grey tomb-stones are gathered the bones that once werе women and men
And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to thе revel that ends too soon
For cockcrow limits our holiday – the dead of the night’s high-noon!

[Chorus]
Ha! ha!
The dead of the night’s high-noon!

[RODERIC]
And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds take flight
With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim “good-night”
Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune
And ushers in our next high holiday – the dead of the night’s high-noon!
[Chorus]
Ha! ha!
The dead of the night’s high-noon!
Ha! ha! ha! ha!