Where the Moon Hangs Silent

In the void of night, beneath the silver cloak,
whispers of ancient hymns caress the ears
with a chill, a ghostly waltz of forgotten souls.

Once, there was a laughter that danced
upon the cobblestones, now silence reigns,
an eternal vigil in the pale shadows.

Listen closely, and hear the warbles of
mournful cries, trapped in the twilight fog,
a tapestry woven with the thread of despair.

Do not fear the darkness, for it has embraced
you long before you knew its name; it is
a familiar whisper in the dead of night.