| Song | The Bite |
| Artist | Comus |
| Album | First Utterance |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Wootten | |
| The wolf's lough eerie cracks the humid night air | |
| The rabbit freezes the fox in his lair | |
| The owl hoots shrilly searching the dark | |
| The moon white flangs through the trees tall and stark | |
| Who would emerge on a night like this | |
| Who would loose his bonds and greet the air with a hiss | |
| The battered Christian down his head in despair | |
| The crown of sharp thorns revealed 'neath his hair | |
| His scrawny body worn tnin by the trial | |
| Stand taut and painful on the pilgrim's last mile | |
| A million fleshy things converge upon the spot | |
| His eye retort the atmosphere is hot | |
| The wolf sniffs ivory fanged he bristles up his spine | |
| The fox smiles knowingly but dares not step out of line | |
| Through the twisting crushing silence | |
| The broken Christian creeps | |
| Each footstep like a thunderclap | |
| Among the trunky deeps | |
| No bird make sound no creature moves | |
| To break the gripping air | |
| The Christian he raises, his hand up to his mouth | |
| But for a whisper he cannot dare | |
| The Christian wakes trembles with sweat | |
| The cell's dark walls stony and wet | |
| Metallic echoes as the bolts are drawn back | |
| The doors swing inwards dull light through the crack | |
| The jailer looks indifferent to him | |
| The routine morning martyr's death for him | |
| A misty cold sad morning | |
| Greets the Christian's haggard grin | |
| The rope is slung and the noose is tied | |
| But Christian's neck is thin | |
| The block is raised he stands erect | |
| The rope beneath his chin | |
| They pull the block | |
| And the Christian drops | |
| He hangs above the scene. |
| zuo qu : Wootten | |
| The wolf' s lough eerie cracks the humid night air | |
| The rabbit freezes the fox in his lair | |
| The owl hoots shrilly searching the dark | |
| The moon white flangs through the trees tall and stark | |
| Who would emerge on a night like this | |
| Who would loose his bonds and greet the air with a hiss | |
| The battered Christian down his head in despair | |
| The crown of sharp thorns revealed ' neath his hair | |
| His scrawny body worn tnin by the trial | |
| Stand taut and painful on the pilgrim' s last mile | |
| A million fleshy things converge upon the spot | |
| His eye retort the atmosphere is hot | |
| The wolf sniffs ivory fanged he bristles up his spine | |
| The fox smiles knowingly but dares not step out of line | |
| Through the twisting crushing silence | |
| The broken Christian creeps | |
| Each footstep like a thunderclap | |
| Among the trunky deeps | |
| No bird make sound no creature moves | |
| To break the gripping air | |
| The Christian he raises, his hand up to his mouth | |
| But for a whisper he cannot dare | |
| The Christian wakes trembles with sweat | |
| The cell' s dark walls stony and wet | |
| Metallic echoes as the bolts are drawn back | |
| The doors swing inwards dull light through the crack | |
| The jailer looks indifferent to him | |
| The routine morning martyr' s death for him | |
| A misty cold sad morning | |
| Greets the Christian' s haggard grin | |
| The rope is slung and the noose is tied | |
| But Christian' s neck is thin | |
| The block is raised he stands erect | |
| The rope beneath his chin | |
| They pull the block | |
| And the Christian drops | |
| He hangs above the scene. |
| zuò qǔ : Wootten | |
| The wolf' s lough eerie cracks the humid night air | |
| The rabbit freezes the fox in his lair | |
| The owl hoots shrilly searching the dark | |
| The moon white flangs through the trees tall and stark | |
| Who would emerge on a night like this | |
| Who would loose his bonds and greet the air with a hiss | |
| The battered Christian down his head in despair | |
| The crown of sharp thorns revealed ' neath his hair | |
| His scrawny body worn tnin by the trial | |
| Stand taut and painful on the pilgrim' s last mile | |
| A million fleshy things converge upon the spot | |
| His eye retort the atmosphere is hot | |
| The wolf sniffs ivory fanged he bristles up his spine | |
| The fox smiles knowingly but dares not step out of line | |
| Through the twisting crushing silence | |
| The broken Christian creeps | |
| Each footstep like a thunderclap | |
| Among the trunky deeps | |
| No bird make sound no creature moves | |
| To break the gripping air | |
| The Christian he raises, his hand up to his mouth | |
| But for a whisper he cannot dare | |
| The Christian wakes trembles with sweat | |
| The cell' s dark walls stony and wet | |
| Metallic echoes as the bolts are drawn back | |
| The doors swing inwards dull light through the crack | |
| The jailer looks indifferent to him | |
| The routine morning martyr' s death for him | |
| A misty cold sad morning | |
| Greets the Christian' s haggard grin | |
| The rope is slung and the noose is tied | |
| But Christian' s neck is thin | |
| The block is raised he stands erect | |
| The rope beneath his chin | |
| They pull the block | |
| And the Christian drops | |
| He hangs above the scene. |