Silence fills the streets...
    Until a lone drum beats...
    So begins, the marching of black clad feet.

The children sound,
   "Ring around the rosie,
    A Pocket Full of posies.
    Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."
    The words are so very true,
    For death can be felt, all around.

We are here to shed a light,
    To things you do not see,
    Yet still take a fright.

Do not look,
    Pay us no heed!
    Or Death will mark you next,
    And a pox will soon seed.

Darkness fills the eyes,
    Blackening a hole, swallowing your soul,
    Making a bitter sweet demise.
    The dead will continue to prance.
    Till the drummer's final feat, sounding a thunderous beat,
    Ending this nights deadly dance...