Danse Macabre

Shades are shaping

And shapes are shifting

Through faint glowing mist

Ghosts are drifting

Their floating forms

Fills the air

Moaning laments

Of woe and despair

This Danse Macabre

That wends it way

To the Potter’s Field

Where Death holds sway

Forked tongue wizards

Spewing spells

They draw their venom

From necromantic wells

Lurid faced witches

Cavorting nude

Their laughter foul

And their dances lewd

Decaying features

Mottled skins

Rotted flesh

And skeletal grins

Ghastly ghouls

And gory beasts

Great horned monsters

Who’ve come to feast

The graveyard pageant

The writhing throng

Suddenly ceases

At the rumbling gong

The dead have risen

At their master’s calling

But to their knees

They now are falling

Amongst the dankest dark

A tolling fills the gloom

Every creature halts to hark

The approaching Lord of Doom

Clanging clong of iron bell

Precedes his stately tread

Everything that hears the knell

Bows to the King of the Dead