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