Lancelot: Tirra lirra, tirra lirra ...

Narrator I: Where in her fort is she there hiding?
Weaving her web always!

She only sees
Life through a mirror!
She must not look outside!

Narrator II: A curse has been placed on this lady ...
She knows not what it may be ...

She must not join
Life here, outside ...
Or the end she'll see ...!

There in her room, she weaveth stead'ly ...
somewhere inside ...
hiding...

Sick she is now of life in her tow'r ...
she - the unseen artist ...

Narrator I: Look now, the web has flown from her ...
The mirror hath cracked side to side ...

The curse, it has come upon her ...
and and she now shall die ...!

Both: Lady of Shalott,
Float from your isle!
Waning in your small boat!
Who is this lady?
This ...
Lady of Shalott!
Come to Cam'lot!
Secret and strange lady ...

Narrator II: Who is this and what is here ...?

Narrator I: Her hands are cold ...!

Narrator II: All is still now ...

Lancelot: Her face, my Liege, so fair ...

Narrator II: It frightens me

Lancelot: Lend her grace, Lord...