In shadows deep where whispers lie,
A dance begins beneath the sky.
The ancient call of death’s soft breath,
Guides us gently to our rest.

The moonlit path, a silver thread,
Leads us where the lost have tread.
With each step, a story told,
Of lives that fade, of hearts grown cold.

Yet in this dance, a beauty rare,
A bond with time, beyond compare.
For in the end, we all must see,
The grace within mortality.

So let us dance with fleeting grace,
In death’s embrace, a warm embrace.
A classic tale spun from the start,
Where life and death are never apart.