Analysis of Death.

Resting aglow the stone unturned
The fires dance with glee
Crowded by companions alike, Sorrowing together, paining alone
Heat from a burning heart,
The sound is barely a whisper, the call so gently pours, the transgressors thread along, oblivous to the trickles of red that tallys down living grounds.
The light is gone, the tunnel sealed, and thoughts of past is dead. The transgressors thread along, as none and one, in tune to darkness' song.