Jimmy Steer, the fisherman, was walking by the shore
Where he beheld his kinsfolk dear and watched them weep and mourn
There, they clutched a covered corpse
In tears, they cradled him
By the lake, his soul was claimed, alas, he could not swim
He should not have sailed on Dagon Lake
For strange things happen there
Voices from other worlds arrive on the air
Down Jim ran and asked of them
What poor dead soul lies here?
No sooner had they noticed him than they recoiled in fear
What hateful apparition are you, what strange hound of hell?
I am no ghost, here, take my hand
You'll see I'm safe and well
If you are my husband,
Proclaimed his wife, then what is this dead wraith?
For under this sheet you'll see your very own face
I know you have no brother and I know you have no twin
Yet here are your same shaving scars
That mark this changeling's chin
It's true, I sailed on Dagon Lake, though I saw nothing strange
My hand was cut and drops of blood did mingle with the waves
I fear that the lake made this mirror of me
I'm glad that drowned he be
If I'd have known how to swim, then so might he
Madeleine, she craved a friend, and strongly could she swim
Willingly, she cut her hand and let the blood fall in
Later on that night she heard a knock upon her door
And how the wraith recoiled in fear when Madeleine, it saw
"Why do you sit in my chair?" it cried
Why do you weave my loom?
Devil, begone, or I am forced to slay you