In the graveyard’s realm, where shadows creep,
Beneath the moon’s cold, ghostly sweep,
Lies a tale both eerie and dire,
Of restless spirits, fueled by fire.
Beneath the soil, the dead do stir,
In moonlit graves, they start to whisper,
Their hollow voices, like a chilling wind,
Tell of a darkness that lies within.
Ghosts with eyes of crimson flame,
Invisible hands that play a twisted game,
They rise from tombs, in ghastly delight,
Haunting the living through the night.
Beneath the weeping willow’s shroud,
They gather in silence, a ghostly crowd,
Their mournful wails, a haunting sound,
In this unholy, hallowed ground.
Invisible fingers brush your skin,
As the graveyard’s dread seeps in,
Phantom footsteps follow close behind,
In this nightmare realm, terror entwined
Through twisted trees, they beckon you near,
Into the heart of your darkest fear,
In the graveyard’s grip, you’re not alone,
A nightmare world, where the dead have grown.
So beware the graveyard’s chilling embrace,
Where phantoms linger in endless chase,
In this fictional world of spectral might,
The line between life and death blurs in the night.