Darkness closes in on all
as the witching hour draws near.
Festering hands reach from the ground.
The night holds a profound fear.
*
From the graves of evil folk
rise the carcases of hell.
Their coffins also rotted weak
the corpses neither taste nor smell.
*
Searching for the air of blood
the cadavers shuffle round.
The night is in a silent flood
They don’t utter a single sound.
*
Cadavers there and everywhere
in their search for flesh.
They do not think of what is fair
for they are in a wicked mesh.