Black is the hour when graveyards yield
Their crop of living dead,
The pale moon lends its ghostly light
To spectral creatures that stalk the night.

Death at midnight streaks across the shadows
With scarlet claws unfurled,
Its victims breathe with eerie gasps,
Their silent screams the night air grasps.

By purple pools enshrouded by mist
The creatures drink their fill.
Like a nightmare scene of a ravaged mind
They leave their nocturnal world behind.