Beneath the moon’s pale, ghostly light,
The shadows dance with silent grace.
In Spain, where history’s heavy plight,
Leaves whispers of a dark embrace.

The streets are hushed, the air is still,
As echoes of the past arise.
The Spanish death, a haunting thrill,
Casts sorrow’s veil before our eyes.

Once vibrant lives now turned to dust,
Their stories lost in time’s cruel flow.
In memory’s grip, we place our trust,
To honor those we used to know.

The night grows deep, the stars shine bright,
Yet shadows linger, cold and near.
In Spain, the death, a poignant sight,
Reminds us all of mortal fear.