Born in a sorry cot, left on the stairs of the cold stone;

Damned to be scorned, in darkness, damned to be alone;

Taken by the Church, his soul will be slave of God;

In the belfry's beauty is his figure something odd.



We see the hunchback in Notre Dame

Dancing on the tallest towers



Arcades and spires, filling his heart,

Deep like the choir, fine like the art

Is the place my cell, is it?

Is God's home my hell?

Oh, my body prisions my poor soul,

Until I toll!



I am grim, full of gloom

In my dim gothic tomb



But the bells in my heart chime for ever

With the ding that belongs

To the king of their songs

I'm the sound of Notre Dame



In the Wheel of Life he is a horror for the crowd,

When will be the time he'll see the sun between the clouds?

Looking at the bells he thinks about his tragic fate

Wants to be a rock or metal like his souless mates



We hear the hunchback in Notre Dame

Crying on the tallest towers



Gargoyles and columns, his relity;

Chants wich are solemn, his agony

Is this place my cell, is it?

Is God's home my hell?

Oh, my body imprisons my poor soul

Until i toll!



I am grim, full of gloom

In my dim gothic tomb

But the bells in my heart chime for ever

With the ding that belongs

To the king of their songs

I'm the sound of Notre Dame