On the edge

On the edge of the devil’s hand, where temptation’s veil unfurls,
Ghosts soar, in an eerie, silent whirl.
The darkness whispers secrets, as the raven takes its flight,
In the shadows, it waits, its eyes gleaming with delight.

A spectral dance ensues, a waltz of sin and fear,
As the ghosts of temptation, draw ever near.
They sway and glide, their presence felt, yet unseen,
In the corners of our hearts, they weave a web of deceit and glee.

The raven’s call, a siren’s song, it carries through the night,
An invitation to the edge, where demons hold their might.
On the precipice of disgrace, where shadows intertwine,
We stand, entranced, as our souls begin to shrink and pine.

On the edge of the devil’s hand, with temptation all around,
The ghosts soar, their tales of sin profound.
In this dance of darkness, we find ourselves ensnared,
As the raven watches, ever-ready to tear and to scar.