🎵 THE GATHERING OF EVERY SOUL [Intro — whispered English gentleman, distant church bells] Now then, my dears… do mind the fog. Keep to the pavement. Don't stray from the road. There's a rather peculiar meeting tonight… And everyone's bloody invited. One bell rings. Two bells ring. Every bell in England begins to scream. [Verse 1 — sinister, theatrical British vocals] At midnight sharp, when the moon turns black, The shadows crawl and they don't crawl back. From London Town to the Scottish shore, Something's knocking at every door. The vicar's trembling, the queen's gone pale, There's a headless chap delivering mail! The dogs won't bark and the clocks won't chime, And the dead are queuing in a perfectly straight line. "Evening, old bean!" says a voice from the mist. "Your name's on the parchment. You really can't miss this!" [Pre-Chorus — rising choir and pounding drums] Gather the wicked! Gather the blessed! Gather the souls who have never found rest! From every kingdom, from every street, There's a thousand million shadows marching to the beat! [Chorus — huge British gothic choir] 🎶 WELCOME, WELCOME, THE GATHERING CALLS! EVERY LAST SOUL FROM THE ROOFTOPS TO WALLS! LONDON IS WEEPING, THE HEAVENS HAVE FLED! THE KINGDOM OF NIGHT WANTS THE LIVING AND DEAD! Oh, blimey! Oh, bloody hell! Who opened the gate to the infernal hotel? Raise up your glasses, let the black bells ring! There's no bloody escaping the gathering! [Verse 2 — rowdy Cockney delivery over frantic violin] There's a banker from Bristol with a hole in his name, A duchess from Dover who remembers no shame. A bloke from the pub says, "This can't be right!" Then his pint starts whispering, "You're ours tonight." The telephone's ringing, but nobody's there, Just a voice saying, "Lovely weather for despair!" The trains aren't running, the buses are late, And something with antlers is guarding the gate. "Right then, sunshine, best settle your score. You shouldn't have signed what you found on the floor!" [Bridge — slow, chilling spoken-word British narration] Dearly beloved… What a splendid turnout. Every beggar. Every lord. Every liar who swore upon the Lord. Every sailor lost beneath the foam. Every child who never made it home. Every soul that ever drew breath… Has heard the invitation. And the most dreadful thing, old chap? The invitation has been accepted. [Chorus — heavier drums, choir screaming behind vocals] 🎶 WELCOME, WELCOME, THE GATHERING CALLS! THOUSANDS OF KINGDOMS ARE ANSWERING THE CALL! THE OCEANS ARE SILENT, THE STARS HAVE GONE BLIND! THERE'S A TERRIBLE SECRET AT THE END OF ALL TIME! Oh, blimey! Oh, bloody hell! Who's that laughing in the old church bell? The sky splits open, the black birds sing… EVERY SOUL BELONGS TO THE GATHERING! [Finale — orchestral apocalypse, bells and demonic choir] Spoken by a calm, elderly British gentleman: "Thank you all ever so much for attending. Refreshments will be served shortly. Do mind the staircase on your way down. And please… Do not look behind you." A final church bell rings. A woman's voice whispers: "There's one soul missing." Silence. A knock at the listener's door. [Final whisper — refined British accent] "Ah. There you are, old bean."
