In the witching hour the moon is up

And lights the fields



Hear the distant sound of the owls cry

The night's surreal



In this forgotten graveyard

Where all forbidden things are

Buried and hiding, waiting

Headstones are slowly shaking

The buried ones will now awake



Resurrected from the dead

The haunting season has begun

The haunters horn calls shades of dogs

The games afoot and now the haunt is on



The mortal fate to be ghostly prey

There's no escape because the haunt is on



They gather around and plan the haunt

Until the end

Make the people run - let them tire

Ripped to shreads