Beneath the ancient oak that bears no leaves,
whispers of the forgotten chant persist,
echoing through the void, a call to forsake.
Enter the gate where shadows entwine,
in the chamber of the unseen, the candle dims.
They gather, cloaked in midnight fabric,
circled around the sullen fire,
a rite obscured by time's heavy grain.
Eyes alight with spectral visions,
this is where souls renew their sighs.
Lift the veil, wanderer, if you dare,
for secrets lie beyond the mist,
and truths that tremble beneath the heart.
Seek the altar of whispers where
the silent vows of shadows are kept.