He hides in the shadows as twilight descends
Standing behind the icy curtain of frost in the vale
Plotting a sinister plan so vile, as the day slowly ends
Around midnight the wind suddenly turns into a gale.
The dead and the departed respond to his call
Obsidian figures rise as if in a trance
They move as directed; at his beck and call
In a messianic frenzy they begin to dance.
He stands now in front of the dank, ornate crypt
Hoping to regain life from his inamorata lying supine
With fingers, like daggers, his beloved’s heart is ripped
Tears of blood fall from the heaven and dogs begin to whine!
Slithering snakes shatter the syntax of the night
Howling hyenas hum scenting a hunt
Lighting strikes thrice cleaving the night
Bringing to a naught his devilish stunt!