Mustapha's Tale - Angelo Branduardi

Mustapha the silver bit and stoked up the fire

Began his tale once in the blue hills so tired

I found a cave to shelter in, the entrance was low

If its fable or fantasy the desert wind knows

If its fable or fantasy the desert wind blows

Suddenly awakened with a black chill of terror

I saw twelve hooded figures in graveyard apparel

Who shuffling towards me where I crouched by the wall

Said Mustapha you’re now one of us, we have need of one more

Yes joining hands they left a place and called for one more

Thirteen we must be tonight for conjure and scheme

My limbs gave me to them I prayed that I dreamed

My hands held fast by other hands the circle was closed

If its fable or fantasy the desert wind knows

If its fable or fantasy the desert wind blows

A pentagram of Caldea was drawn in vermillion

Where five lamps were a’flickering to foul incantation

When all at once sulphurous vapours did rise

A cloud, a shape, a form, a face with tapers for eyes

Never was a gargoyle more hideously moulded

Or a voice heard more of snake fit

Which that awful head issued

No greater riches offered for a small sacrifice

A name in blood, a promised soul, the unholy price

A name in blood, a promised soul, the unholy price

It offered me all women both living and dead

Palaces and flower a crown for my head

But from somewhere deep inside me came the strength to scream no

If its fable or fantasy the desert wind knows

If its fable or fantasy the desert wind blows

Mustapha the silver bit and stoked up the fire

Began his tale once in the blue hills so tired

I found a cave to shelter in and the rest I’ve disclosed

Fable or fantasy the desert wind blows

Fable or fantasy the desert wind blows

If its fable or fantasy the desert wind blows