Santa Compaña

Put out your lanterns, hold your loved ones tight

Flee under your covers and hide your head

It is that time of the late starry night

It’s time for the procession of the dead

* * *

They march village to village, town to town

A live parishioner leading the way

But no trace of the dead is to be found

Save for the smell of candles that might stray

* * *

Quietly they pass through the eerie dark

Not to leave a single sign in their wake

But do not leave your house for—wait! Hark!

Here they come and now our deaths we must fake

* * *

Lie face-down on the ground and do not move

An awful fate will await if you do

You might think me crazy, but I will prove

That the next parishioner will be you

* * *

If the dead find you alive on their march

The parishioner will be freed from them

And it will be you who will lead the charge

And from you their evil will surely stem

* * *

So if you see that hot cauldron at night

Or spot an invisible procession

You must remember to flee, please take flight

Lest you be the curse’s new possession

* * *

Author’s Note: To learn more about the Santa Compaña, follow the link below.