At the weirdly uncomfortable stillness of the graveyard, I can feel your presence.
In the very heart of the silence of the night, I can hear your rustling sounds, moving the dead leaves across the graveyard\'s ground.
Behind the blackened gravestones, I can see your creepy shadow moving swiftly from grave to grave.
On the tops of the leafless branches that pointing their long bony fingers towards the sky,
as if they are trying to engrave deep cutting into the moon\'s face,
I can feel your malicious aggression.
Through the cracks in the graveyard\'s walls, I can feel your frighting eyes waiting impatiently for new victims.
The black garments, dressed by widows, tell tales about the impact of your tragic strikes.
The shedding of bitter tears of orphaned children, says a lot about the impact of your woeful attacks.
In the appalling eerie aura that enshrouds the deserted old houses, I can see your hideous victory.
But still, seeing the first beam of the glorious sunlight, I can feel your trembling heart and your uncontrollable overwhelming fear.
But still, seeing the glorious splendor of sunbeams, I can feel your terror, and I can see your humiliating tears begging for mercy.
But still, because of the unshakable belief in the inevitable upcoming Resurrection, I can bear witness to your crushing defeat, and the fall of your fake pride to its knees.