by Gavin Buckley
In moonlit grave and shadowed crypt,
something stirs within the mist.
Those now dead shall rise once more,
to feed on those they loved before.
Through hallowed soil comes mottled hands,
now a hungry army roams the lands.
You will run from, and you will fear,
the corpses of those once loved so dear.
With reaching arms and groaning breath,
they are preaching harm and taunting death.
Squeaking door and squawking crow,
these melodies of your fatal show.
The nooses knot has become so tight,
can you survive another night?
As hope is forgotten and innocence dies,
you remember the day the dead did rise.