The Witching Hour

In absolute silence
You can hear the footsteps of the dead,
Tis' the time the living dread.

Dim the lights
Relax and sit still,
For they are trudging over the hill.

Focus your attention
To their awful sound,
They smell your scent like a starving Blood Hound.

Lock your doors
Hide while you can,
They're searching for an easy man.

Nearly 3 o'clock
Almost at your door,
You are what they're looking for.

Once you're sensed
They always win,
They'll shred you apart until you're thin.

They have entered
You have no where to go,
You are now a part of The Witching Hour show.