The night-winds blow across the shallow mounds

Echoing cries and mournful sounds,

Vile ancient tombs holding the remains

Of accursed lives of death in vain.

This cemetery lies in mystery and fate.

The bell in the tower tolls the hour

As the night turns late.

Birds of prey—I gazed with regret—

The graves are reaped as the earth lies wet.

Those undead asleep will waken soon

As fog rolls in o'er the rising moon.

The graves are carved with forsaken names

Yet Fallen Hollow remains the same.