The Lights of the Dead

The lights of the dead are on tonight,
their window panes aglow
with the dancing shadows of fire light
and the echoes of long-gone sorrow.

The lights of the dead are on tonight,
the lanterns burning a hole.
And with no other visitors in sight,
whispers of mist hover above the space below.

The lights of the dead are on tonight,
swimming in a sea of old breath.
Upon the shores of a misty twilight,
ever patient for the call of Death.

The lights of the dead are on tonight,
silent as the stars themselves.
When the call of Dawn brings forth first light,
they all descend to their pits to dwell.