Oh, ghostly apparitions, from beyond the veil,
A chill runs down my spine and sets my heart to quail,
In the dead of night, when the world is dark and still,
The ghosts come out to play and test our iron will.
They move with grace, swift and sly,
Their pale white forms, ethereal and spry,
Haunting the halls with their mournful cry,
Echoing through the chamber, they fly.
From forgotten tombs and ancient crypts,
They rise up and wreak their spectral tricks,
Drifting through the walls and down the corridors,
Their eyes aglow with the light of a thousand horrors.
They wander where the living dare not tread,
Amongst the ruins of the long-dead,
Their hands outstretched, their voices like lead,
As they call out to us from the mists ahead.
Oh, ghostly apparitions, creatures of the night,
Whispering secrets that give us a fright,
With a presence that shivers, and shakes and quivers,
And a power that makes us bow and shiver.
So let us bear witness to their ghostly ways,
And to the mountains they'll come ablaze,
With their moaning and wailing and flailing hands,
Until the morning breaks and the sun commands.
