Out in the shadows of Halloween night,
A small dark raven takes off in flight.
The ghosts are hovering right off the ground,
In forms of some children that have never been found.
The jack-o-lanterns are glowing as bright as can be,
And old witches are cackling so hard with such glee.

Black cats are prowling all over the place,
Ancient silver knights still hunting for their mace.
Vampires stalk the red dripping blood,
That hangs from glass still stuck in the mud.
But then comes the darkest creature of all,
Always too frightening, so haunting, so tall.

It forms from the mist and the gloom swirling round,
No one would dare to make even a sound.
With a robe as inky as the blackness of caves,
Its belt waves pitifully as it wanders through graves.
Its clothes start to billow, strands of cloth frayed,
This huge stirring force keeps slithering away.

As the moon's round circle of white light glows,
And the cold gust of autumn wind blows,
The bright moon is waning, it's shrinking to fast,
His time here is ending, it may be his last.
As the clock strikes twelve o’ one,
The legendary phantom is dead and done.