In the quiet of the moonlit hour,
Whispers weave through the silent bower,
Shadows creep with a chilling might,
As demons dance in the dead of night.

They glide on whispers, dark and cold,
Stories of fear, haunting and old,
Eyes that gleam with a wicked light,
Lost souls bound in endless night.

In every corner where shadows fall,
They linger, watch, and heed the call,
Of broken hearts and shattered dreams,
Feeding on silent, hidden screams.

But as dawn’s light begins to break,
They retreat, their power to forsake,
Until the night returns once more,
And demons dance as they did before.