A Summons from the Shadows at The Unurban 🦇

Hark! From the Unurban Cafe, where shadows creep and cling, A dread, delightful summons doth the Seventh hour bring.

 List well, ye souls of Santa Monica, where soft Pacific sighs, To the 30th of October’s call, beneath the moonlit skies.

At the Unurban’s ancient door, 3301 Pico’s plight, When the hour of Seven strikes the knell, on that abysmal night.

 Come hither, come ye, all who yearn for mirth in morbid guise, To feel the chill of revelry reflected in your eyes.

The Mystical Merriment

No spectral shade nor ghost shall find a joy so deep and vast, As when our Singers haunt the stage, their chilling notes outcast. 

With voices wild, yet strangely sweet, they rise to heights unknown, Weaving spells that bind the heart upon a shadowed throne.

The Musicians, masters of the strings and ivory keys, Shall conjure forth a dreadful sound that rustles through the trees. 

A haunted measure, dark and deep, a rhythm, fierce and free, An incantation played by hand for all the world to see.

And lo! The Poets, pale and drawn, with gaze that chills the bone, Will speak of shadows, love, and loss, in somber, solemn tone. 

Their words, like magical spells, shall hold the soul in thrall, Capturing hearts with mystical talents that answer to their call.

A Night of Noble Dread

So don your masks, ye mortal folk, and leave your cares behind, And seek the Unurban Cafe’s embrace, where kindred spirits find

 A wild, entertaining jubilation, freed from earthly fear, To dance and howl till dawn appears, and the morning light is near.

In terror and delight we wait, come if ye dare, and see, The genius of the haunted night, for all eternity!

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