• Dark, decreped, misty area,
    With thousands of stone statues,
    Filled to the brim with dead bodies,
    A place with depression and mornful thoughts.

    A land that we all know we may end up,
    Being laid to rest in a deep ditch,
    Inside a wooden crate covered in pounds of dirt,
    And topped off with a stone nametag with little information.

    Coldness blankets its landscapes,
    Even in 100 degree weather you get goosebumps,
    A chill that goes down from the top of your head to your feet,
    The feeling of being in a freezer....forever in fridget air.

    Dreary images float through the air,
    Energies from beyand the world of the living,
    Figures of people who live underground,
    Reach out for the comfort of a warm-hearted soul.

    Local teens tell of terrifying tales,
    Of children from decades coming back,
    To seek revenge on those who distrub their eternal rest,
    Never to recieve it in the end; no more sleep.

    The Undertaker watches from afar,
    Staring at you and your family and friends,
    Waiting for you and your group to leave,
    So he/she can take care of the graveyards.