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.