Midnight Stroll Through the Necropolis
As the clock strikes midnight, I set out on my way To the old, forgotten necropolis, Where the dead lie in decay. The moon is but a sliver, Hanging low in the sky, As I wander among the graves, Where the tombstones loom on high. The wind is but a whisper, Moaning through the ancient trees, As if to foretell the sorrow That forevermore will be. I cannot help but shiver As I walk this lonely path, For I feel the ghosts of the dead All around me, in their wrath. And yet, despite the fear, I cannot help but feel A sense of peace in this place, Where death is all that's real. For in the end, we all must go To the great unknown, Where death is but a passage To a world where we're not alone.