Ritual

The shadows descend, in eerie silence they’re drawn. The moon casts its light, on a ritual so wrong. The drums beat out a rhythm, a hymn of dread and despair. The figures in the circle, an offering to the air. The ritual complete, the chanting stops cold. The smoke from all the candles, a ghostly shroud of gold. And in the stillness, the fear, of the unknown. The dark ritual is done, and the night has flown.