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 Your uncle certainly isn 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 gra** 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