The Undertaker

Fog canopies the cemetery

As the blood moon scowls

A smell emits from the ground--ghastly

And a hand penetrates the dirt how

A chick emerges from its shell

Looming is a black cladded giant

With long stygian disheveled hair

The color of the atmosphere is now violet

Be prepared to face your damned despair

A tombstone is already crafted.