At the stroke of midnight, the final hour is near, To claim your prize, let go of fear. In cryptic clues and moonlit verse, The journey ends, for better or worse.
The last question awaits, can you set it free, The key to your treasure, what could it be? With each riddle solved, you've braved the night, Now, unlock the finale, in the pale moon's light.
It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter.
What is it?