There’s a chapel in the valley
On the road to Ballahoon
And the graves are glistening softly
In the shimmer of the moon.
The yew trees cast black shadows
And the owl hoots from a tree –
But I am quickly heading home.
It’s not the place for me.
There’s a clock upon the bell tower
And it chimes the midnight hour
And the tiny bats are well awake,
Not drowsing in the tower.
The music from the dark graveyard
Emits its mournful strains,
And the skeletons rise up and dance
And loudly rattle chains.
The ghosts and witches now arrive
And make a mirthful throng –
And the atmosphere’s augmented
By a ghastly, ghoulish song.
It’s best to stay inside your homes,
Away from such a scene –
And you’ll understand the reason
When I say it’s Halloween.
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