What, are we in limbo – The street filled with skeletons And faces deathly white? Pallid, strangely festive, Sun still high, dusk not yet set – All the in-betweenness of life And death combine in suburban street. Scout Hall silent for once in the week And houses ring with trick or treat Before the day the faithful pray And make oblation for the dead And for the lost ones, limbo-dreading, Souls unsure of where they stand, The cost already paid and yet Strange parties rage, the in-between The only place we know.