In the graveyard by the lake
The dead sleep and at midnight wake
They prowl the grounds with tales of woe
Of long dead and suffering souls
A fog rolls in from the still waters
To silence their eerie cries and broken stutters
To keep Arbortown safe from the truth
That the dead live and suffer from guilt
But one solemn night before the fog came
A lone ghost arose and came unchained
It droned and moaned its way into town
And behind, other ghosts followed, completely entranced
“I lived like a king, I spat on the pauper,
All is not as it seems, wicked souls suffer”
Its song carried, drawing out the natives
They looked on, horrified, in sweat-soaked nighties
But the ghosts hurt no one and touched nothing
Their message they spread, even though haunting
When the morning sun brushed the horizon
The ghosts returned to rest from their long procession
The townspeople gathered and agreed to ward out the ghosts
Afraid that their shaken minds would go toast
But that strange occurrence left an indelible mark
The people of Arbortown tried to be better in ways they previously lacked