A darkness surrounds them, dripping rhythmically a metronome for the songs of silence. Their voices shadows of sorrow, grating softly Glass carefully crushed under the weight of loss.
Their melody rises and falls with the tide Of new souls seeping into the drip, drip, dripping Metronome for the songs of silence, To add their sketchy voices to the throng.
This is sort of how I imagine the underworld being if such a thing were to exist.