Demons Rising

The crown, my deeds Like a burden does it seem
I stand all alone In a dark and empty dream
Such is the bitter taste
Of the blarney outta hell
There was a life to waste
And the witches did it well
Here as I sit
On a cold and empty throne
The thanes, most men
All have fled I am alone
Such is the bitter taste
Of my hopes about to fall
There was a life to waste
I see demons rising tall
(Bridge:)
No use to run and hide
No use to run and hide
(Ref.:)
Now as my dreams lie there in pieces
Where is the glory after all
Now as I stand amidst the ruins
I see demons rising tall
Demons rising tall
Still I am invincible
No fear in my heart there’ll be
No man man of woman born
Shall have power over me
Yet there is a bitter taste
Of the madness that did fall.
I had a life to waste
I see demons rising tall
(Macbeth:) They have tied me to a stake. I cannot fly, but bear-like I must
fight the course. What’s he that was not born of woman? Such a one am I to fear,
or none.
(Young Siward:) What is thy name?
(Macbeth:) Thou’lt be afraid to hear it.
(Young Siward:) No, though thou call’st thyself a hotter name than any is in
hell.
(Macbeth:) My name’s Macbeth.
(Young Siward:) The devil himself could not pronounce a title more hateful to
mine ear.
(Macbeth:) No, nor more fearful.
(Young Siward:) Thou liest, abhorred tyrant. With my sword I’ll prove the lie
thou speak’st.
(They fight, and young Siward is slain)
(Macbeth:) Thou wast born of woman, but swords I smile at, weapons laugh to
scorn, brandished by man that’s of a woman bom.
(Macbeth:) Why should 1 play the Roman fool, and die on mine own sword?
Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them.
(Enter Macduff)
(Macduff:) Turn, hell-hound, turn.
(Macbeth:) Macduff, of all men else I have avoided thee. But get thee back.
My soul is too much charged with blood of thine already.
(Macduff:) I have no words; My voice is in my sword, thou bloodier villain than
terms can give thee out.
(They fight)
(Macbeth:) Thou losest labour. As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy
keen sword impress as make me bleed. Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield to one of woman born.
(Macduff:) Despair thy charm, and let the angel whom thou still hast served
tell thee Macduff was from his mother’s womb untimely ripped.
(Macbeth:) Accursed be that tongue that tells me so, for it hath cowed my
better part of man; and be these juggling fiends no more believed,
that palter with us in a double sense, that keep the word of promise to our
ear and break it to our hope. I’ll not fight with thee.
(Macduff:) Then yield thee, coward,
(Macbeth:) I will not yield to kiss the ground before your feet,
and to be baited with the rabble’s curse.
Though thou opposed being of no woman born, yet I will try the last.
Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him
that first cries: «Hold, enough!"My fate may have turned to black but at least
I 'II die with harness on my back.