In screaming woods and empty rooms
or gloomy vaults and sunken tombs;
where monks and nuns in dust decay,
and shadows dance at close of day,

Where the bat dips on the wing
and spectral choirs on breezes sing;
where swords of ancient battles clash
and shimmering shades for freedom dash.

Where silver webs of spiders weave
and blighted lovers take their leave;
where curses lay the spirits low
and mortal footsteps fear to go.

Where death holds life in grim embrace
its line's etched on the sinners face;
where e'er the march of time is flaunted
Voices cry - "THIS PLACE IS HAUNTED!"