In a town where shadows creep and dwell, Underneath the midnight's spell, Cobblestones, with stories untold, Gleam 'neath homes of Tudor old.
Windows glow with amber light, But no soul stirs in the dead of night. Through the streets, a ghastly parade, Skeletons march, a fearsome brigade.
Bones clatter in the moon's pale glow, Echoing through the streets below. A cart creaks, laden with dread, Bearing a bell, heavy as lead.
This bell of sorrow, dark and deep, Awakens secrets long asleep. Its tolling echoes, a haunting knell, Summons forth the spirits' swell.
Columns of the lifeless tread, With hollow eyes and whispers dead. The town, once vibrant, now a scene, Of nightmares caught in between.
Each step, a chime of eerie ring, A symphony of terror they bring. In this procession of the night, Darkness swallows the last of light.
A tale of horror, silently told, In that ancient town, so brave and bold. Where once there was laughter and song, Now only the shadows do belong.
