The Quiet Moon Shines Bright Above

The quiet moon shines bright above,
But not the moon that fosters Love –
Best go home and hide within,
The moon's face bears an evil grin.

The churchyard 'neath the starry sky
You'd better leave, on swift feet fly,
For hear the shaking of the stones!
The stirring of the grisly bones!

Night enshrouds the quiet street,
Then – hear the shuffling of the feet,
The clapping of the bony hands –
The creatures of the Underlands!

Two by two, in grim parade,
Loathesome shade by loathesome shade,
Hear the stir of fetid robe
Illumed by silent lunar globe.

Their voices mutter – can you hear
Of what they speak, and do you fear
That in their noise you'll catch a clue
That as they march, they speak of you?