October Eleven Twenty Thirteen

Tomorrow as you wend your way home
You will hear at twilight a train come
And dying leaves fly to the loam
The dark carnival comes to town

Your steps will echo on empty street
The trees , one by one, their leaves
Like men in graves will turn to peat
And voices will echo of Hallow's eve

Then you feel the cold hand of doom
Yours to fear and face alone
No hope that saves nor faith drawn
The fates at last call back their own
And whispered in a cold wind warn

Something Wicked This Way Comes