It's the day that ghost comes to life,
People tremble in fear and laughter,
When we confuse good for evil

We celebrate nothing but maskers
And sheets like white snow, we see no light
When we lit up screaming pumpkins

Mist of our ancestors make strings
With the past and the present, history
Is no such thing to exist in the midnight hour
When the fires keeps us warm in our houses

We do not dance anymore, or make the oxes
Run to fire, nor do we really face the danger
Of the dark hours that comes to us:
We laugh at the foolish white haired people.