In the stillness of the midnight hour,
Shadows dance with a ghostly power.
Whispers creep through the ancient hall,
Echoes of lives now gone, they call.

Moonlight weaves through the broken pane,
Silent footsteps on the dusty lane.
The air is thick with tales untold,
Of spirits lost in stories old.

A chill that lingers, a breath so cold,
The past and present start to fold.
Faces form in the misty veil,
Ghostly figures, so pale, so frail.

They haunt the night, they claim their space,
In every corner, in every place.
A spectral dance, a mournful song,
In the realm where the lost belong.