The night is empty
dark and creepy,
unlike usual night
with only full moon shining
and mad dogs howling
As clock strikes twelve,
the souls of dead
wakes up from bed
not made of roses
but made of dead
The ghosts strolls,
the living repose,
while the dead spin
the web of trapping
the living soul
When all the demons
sings the songs of fear,
she hums the rhymes of revenge,
of her life taken
by the one she loved.
She didn't want to scare,
She didn't want to kill,
She wanted to know
the truth so precious
than her lost life
She swings to and fro
from the place she was hung
while her killer sleeps
like an innocent child,
unaware of his victim
smiling, ready to take him
to a place between life and death
