what goes on-- behind those shrill, gentle mornings

what goes on-- behind those shrill, gentle mornings?
A gustful wind of echoing voice trembling the soft, pale, florescent furs of skin on Daphne's face

what goes on-- behind those shrill, gentle mornings?
another look at Death, you see? Hmm? Ahem! I meant Life...!

Beetlejuice trembles and travels lubricant to his reality of splitting, spitting fibers of insects and Roaches in front of her. He engulfs a giant Coachroach about the size of a building with his own two, furious hands and then marked his Grave with a shovel full of raw-hide dirt and potatoed Lamb.

Pickles, anyone?