The strings still sing when the room turns dim, Feels like you’re near, just past the rim. Some nights the quiet holds your sound, A trace of comfort once we found. Bruises on your soul, They left a mark that never fades, Carved in the air, in all we played. Your shadow stays beneath the chords, Still spilling truth without words. The empty walls, a bitter ring, A quiet rage in everything. Every note, a wound disguised, A scream that lives where sound survives. I hear your strain in twisted cords, That quiet ache beneath the chords. The old refrain still bites and sways, Like a lost tune trapped in the grey. Your weary grin still circles round... I still tune down, like you once did, Hoping to hear what calmness hid. No prayer, no cry, no saving call, Just fading noise and after-fall. Bruises on your soul, They left a mark that never fades, Carved in the air, in all we played. Your shadow stays beneath the chords, Still spilling truth without words. Somehow you’re quiet, Hmmh, the song replays.
