Dreamers:

High on a hill sits a bit old house

With something wrong inside it

Spirits haunt the halls

And make no effort now to hide it



What will put their souls to rest

And stop their ceaseless sighing

Why do they call out children's names

And speak of one who's crying



Mrs Medlock:

Well, you’re right not to care

Your uncle certainly isn’t going

To trouble himself about you



Dreamers:

And the master hears the whispers

On the stairways dark and still

And the spirits speak of secrets

On the house upon the hill



Mrs. Medlock:

He's a hunchback, you see

And a sour young man he was,

and got no good of all his mney

and bid place till her were married



Mary:

To my Aunt Lily?



Mrs. Medlock:

She were a sweet, pretty thing and he'd

have walked the world over to get her

a blad of grass that she wanted. When

she sied, it made him worse than ever.



Dreamers:

High on a hill sits a bit old house

With something wrong inside it

Someone died and someone's left

Along and can't abide it



There in the house is a lonely man

Still haunted by her beauty

Asking what a life can be

When naught remains but duty



Mary:

Is it always so ugly here?



Mrs. Medlock:

It's the moor. Miles and miles

Of wild land that nothing grows

on but heather and gorse and broom,

and nothing lives on but wild

ponies and sheep



Mary:

What is that awful howling sound?



Mrs. Medlock:

That's the wind blowing through the bushes

They call it wuthering, that sound

but look there-that tiny light

far across there

that'll be the gate it will



Dreamers:

And the master hears the whispers

One the stariways dark and still

And the spirits speak of secerts

In the house upon the hill








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