The Rush

Under these ancient ruins that loom ominous and bleak
Oh wanderer, pray tell me, what is it that you seek
At midnight, in this half-forgotten, desolate place
As the revered goddess up above unveils her silvery face
The answer's whispered in the subtle rustling of the woods
A circle you behold, of shadows with pitch black hoods
In silence, as all creatures of the night remain oddly hushed
Frozen you stay when in your heart, a mortal terror rushed
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