Death's Game

The cold north wind blows swiftly between the balding trees.
Carrying on its doubled back
A sense of great unease.

Beneath the pale and sickly moon, the spirits move, with one desire --
To lead astray the foolish soul
And burn it with their fire.

They whisper of love, of hope, of power, and they promise the secrets of life.
But all they truly give is pain,
Misery, fear, and strife.

The dead know the fate that's in store for the souls that get trapped by this Stygian snare.
Waylaid by the dark that lies behind the moon,
Their screams echo, unheard, in the air.

My child, beware of the things that go bump and the shadow that moves in the dark
For the fire that seeks to devour your soul
Can start with the smallest spark.

Heed the warning screams of the dead. Don't ignore their fetid breath.
For this game that you play seeks one thing in the end.
It seeks to bring your death.