The corpse that walks, its solemn line. The vampire stalks, finds blood to dine. The werewolf howls at the silver moon. His human form what's showing at noon. The mummy's cries of pain and loss. His wraps that smell of must and moss. The witch that flies, upon her broom casting curses and spelling doom. The black cat scurries, hisses and claws through the graveyard walks his paws.
- UNKNOWN
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