The dead they dance in the evening
in the shadow of the mountain dark,
their song the shriek of the banshee's wail
their bones a beating resonance
on the skin of a fridgid world,
but they long,
how they long for a life once lived
memories, teasing, fading, lost,
while we, the living, skip beneath
clear skies and a brightening sun
with never a thought for tomorrow
nor a care for the past thats gone
but oh how we fear,
how we fear the dark
and the evening yet to come.