Yellow lights in windows glowing,
A fire in the hearth is burning.
As blackness spreads over the land
Like a curtain drawn by an unseen hand,
Children lying snug in their beds
Dare not poke their little heads
Past the border of their covers
But lay there crying for their mothers.
Those still out on the roads
Hasten their steps back to their homes.
For the witching hour now approaches
With the dark that now encroaches
Upon all havens and safe places;
Old comforts have vanished leaving no traces,
No more old haunts, no familiar faces.
Is this reality, or a bad dream?
That's a secret only dawn will reveal.
But in the meanwhile and for the time being
Terrors abound and the dead scream.
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