In the quiet of the night, under the pale moon's light,
Ghosts wander, in the realm of the undead.
Their whispers echo in the chilling air,
A testament of life, that's no longer there.
Death, they say, is but a door,
A passage to the underworld.
A dance with shadows, a silent song,
In the world where the spirits belong.
Ghosts of past, of love and pain,
In death, they find their life again.
In the silence, they speak the truth,
Of life's end and eternal youth.
So fear not death, nor the spectral sight,
For in the darkness, we find the light.
Ghosts remind us, in their spectral ballet,
That life, like death, will find a way to guide us.