A graveyard\"s rusty creaking gate
Obeys the wind\'s howl to create
An atmosphere sliced only by the knife
The dark his blanket for the cold
A flying fox\'s wings unfold
It\'s take off brings the dead of night to life
A mist rolls over antique stone
He tips that he\'s not here alone
As something scurrys quickly out of sight
His isolation closes in
The reek of his most recent sin
Is sensed by every creature of the night
The demons want to flay the lot
A witch shines up her cauldron pot
The werewolfs put thier bid in for the bones
A vamp already claimed the blood
The organs bring a tidal flood
One zombie and her thirty seven clones
Fear roots him firmly to the ground
A screeching almost deafening sound
Has cleared the field with supersonic stealth
The gods he always heard were near
Decided not to interfere
The big man\'s here and wants him for himself