---

Mist sweeps the burial ground, the funeral is

done. All life has left the place, all light is gone.

Whispering in the nearby trees, the wind

embraces the moors. Awakened by the full

moon's light the ghouls have set their course.

Horrid hunger must be stilled; ancient task

must be fulfilled - voices in the night cried;

feasting on those who died.

This is the night of a Thousand Ghouls!

trees of old; the stench of morbid meals

The bleak light shines

upon the gravehill's trees of old;

the stench of morbid meals will son unfold.

Ghastly figures emerge from the moist ground

a thousand voices call, yet not a sound.

The hills conceal their dark and secret,

grotesque lore - the ghouls have their ancient crypts

in search of rotting gore.

Ugh, let's thrash this graveyard!

The decaying remains of a corpse become

a most delicious feast

the starters are the brains of nobleman

and the drinks are the blood of a priest.

They eat the flesh and muscular tissue;

the skulls and bones they throw away.

They're all that is left of this night-time meal when

they face the light of day.

Horrid hunger has been stilled;

ancient task has been fulfilled

voices in the night cried;

feasting on those who died.

Skulls and bones lie shattered;

used as eating tools

the dreadful remains

of the night of a thousand ghouls.