In the depths of the night, where shadows dance,
hunger prowls in its restless trance.
it whispers in the silence, a primal plea,
a symphony of longing, echoing free.

In the quiet corners where time stands still,
decay tiptoes softly, with a patient will.
It's the gentle surrender of once vibrant hues,
Fading into whispers, lost in the old blues.

In the heart's deepest chambers, where darkness reigns,
violently rot rages, in relentless strains.
It's the ruthless assailant, no mercy in sight,
devouring all it touches with its venomous bite.

Like autumn leaves, in their graceful descent,
decay caresses, with a tender scent.
It's the crumbling of stone, the weathered facade,
a slow dance of change,
never too brash, yet not too tame.

With each savage blow it claims its toll,
the rot consumes, with an unyielding roll.
It's the merciless conqueror, in its vicious spree,
Leaving nothing but desolation in its ruthless glee.

Hunger, decay, and violent rot,
the forces that shape our earthly plot.
In their dance of life and death they weave,
a tapestry of existence, where all must live.

Thus, in the cycle of creation's grand design,
these three forces intertwine.
Hunger for life, decay for renewal's breath,
and violent rot, the harbinger of death.