In the stillness of the midnight hour,
When shadows dance and whisper low,
The demons rise with unseen power,
From the depths where darkness flows.

They weave their tales of forgotten fears,
In the silence, their voices grow,
Echoes of the past, in whispered sneers,
Seeds of doubt they subtly sow.

Through the veil of dreams, they creep,
Cloaked in night, their presence near,
In the heart, their secrets keep,
Feeding on each hidden tear.

Yet in the dawn’s first golden light,
They retreat to shadows deep,
For in the day, they lose their might,
And in the sun, they quietly sleep.