It was a ghost choir he heard, then

A softened, otherworldly droning of voices that sighed beneath the heavy veil of death. There was no cadence to their ethereal song, but a spectral monotone, the only waivering in notes came from the varied tones of their authors. These were the notes of ones muffled by the eternal silence of the afterlife, suppressed by the loss of their physical bodies as well as their vocal chords. Their forms now wrapped in a fog that couldnt be penetrated on either side by the deceased nor pumping hearts alive. 

But through this all, a song was whispered. A ghostly choir, joined by many lost voices, a rising mellow chord that reverberated off walls that didnt exist, echoed on high ceilings of cobwebbed cathedrals long fallen to rot and bomb. It was a sound as if from another room down the hall, though neither hall, room, nor wall had been erected in the middle of this field. Their chorus of hums somehow breached the planes between, ebbing and flowing like a sallow tide on a shore of wrecked ships. Confronted with this growing thundercloud of voices from beyond the unknown, his mind could only reflexively ask the question:

“Why do you sing?”

Moans coalesced and faded out, swirling with energies that couldnt exist on Earth. Were they deliberating, he wondered? Trying to come to some unanimous declaration of their wayward fate? The song grew more intense, as more voices rose to join it from their catacombs, their answer all the more important:

“Why dont you?”