Softly in the night
There are whispers that do fright,
Witches hunt and laughter cackles
Ghouls greet the impish jackals,
Underneath the gravesites grown
A life of once-gone laughter thrown,
Ghosts with eyes of black shall jump
Goblins made of mire thump.
A'drawing in the party comes
Made of sticks and threaded thumbs,
These creatures walk in their despair
No longer left to life's clear air,
And all that's heard in every sight
Is dead whispers through the night.