The spirits from seven sad souls

As the old town church clock stopped ticking it’s timing
There was no need for the bell ringer ding-donging his chiming
Everything in the dark stood still that night
An ambience of eerieness to fear and fright 

But Barbestelle Bats flew flapping in a frenzy
zig-zagging thru the graveyard by Father MacKenzie
Now this parish priest wasn’t easily afraid but at that very moment he kneeled and prayed
There were familiar sorrowful sounds and noises that he had heard before 
moaning groans and rusty rattles shaking on the vestry floor

Some say it was the spirits from seven sad souls who had perished down the mineshaft digging up black coals
Well whatever it was that yowled and prowled all the canines from the 
community howled and growled
Each year on the twenty fourth of September
All the local town folks will always remember

Twenty two children were fatherless with widowed wives when disaster struck and slayed seven lives
And all of these men died in their prime covered in charred coal dust and grungy grime
When the clock strikes twelve the hands start sticking and until the crack of dawn timelessness stops ticking
Then as if by magic the old town church bells ring and nobody says a whisper about anything