Three days till the end of the world, the old ones have returned because the stars have released them from the black void they had been thrown into long ago.
Corpse bells ring in the distance, figures in black Mourning cloaks run from the clouds on the horizon. Some have slaughtered their products as sacrificial offerings to the past. Some are running from town seeking better climates while those that stay seek substance with the change.
All is not well in doomsville
gloom reigns like a howling cat
open graves everywhere
Ghost abound and scare anybody around
goblins frown about town
someone is always the clown
don't let that bring you down
because where there is death
spirits hang around
and make quiet whispered sound
keep your ear pressed to the ground
for something that may grow profound.