Specters dance to these beats, clapping time and shuffling feet. Deamons pass before my sight, Tourments, Pains, they taunt my eyes. Compounding loss with grief and pain, endless thoughts plague my mind. Unable to resolve those things unsaid, never to correct those deeds misdone. Stealing birthdays, holidays, gifts, easier than the Grinch and dog.
Death conducts an ensamble well rehearsed, keeping pace, never rushed.
They haunt the living with the dead, fill our brief time with eternal thoughts.