They tremble in your wake, big, claw-footed in their earth shattering steps. Huddled mass a ghostly tsunami inhabitants of the inky corners, where you cohabit with the spirits of your songs heard echoing in the ancient caves, huddled around your icy campfires in hopes of shooing the spirits from the door.
The dark ones do a jig at your fears, dance mightily at your shoulder shaking, erupt in pleasure in their superiority. While you cower-- afraid, singing your sad songs. Homage to their victories.