Ink & Strings

This song tells an imaginary story set in a steampunk world. A poet and a musician create together, mixing words and sounds with a vibe of old machines and smoky air. The music feels sad but strong, with ticking clocks and rusty keys, while the poet writes for those feeling lost. Their art dances like a quiet waltz, blending ink and strings in a shadowy, dreamy way. Even when the song fades, it leaves a lasting thought, like a gentle tune for anyone who’s been through tough times. --------------------------------- The clockwork heart ticks, it hums, it sighs, A poet’s script bleeds through smoke-filled eyes. The gramophone whispers, the strings all weep, A harmony dredged from the endless deep The air is thick with coal and smoke, A symphony spun from a broken yoke. The keys are rusted, but they still play, A song of the lost, of the gone astray. Oh, ink and strings, they dance tonight, A waltz of words in the gaslight’s fight. The poet’s soul, the musician’s flame, Two twisted threads in a burning frame. Ink and strings, they bleed and bind, A cabaret of the fractured mind. The violins scream like a lover’s plea, The bassline thunders like a storm at sea. The poet scribbles on a parchment torn, A hymn for the weary, the lost, the forlorn. The steam rises, the gears all grind, A factory of dreams left far behind. The singer’s voice, it cracks and breaks, A soul laid bare for the world to take. Oh, ink and strings, they dance tonight, A waltz of words in the gaslight’s fight. The poet’s soul, the musician’s flame, Two twisted threads in a burning frame. Ink and strings, they bleed and bind, A cabaret of the fractured mind. The metronome sways, it’s out of time, A dirge for the fallen, a mournful chime. The poet’s hand shakes, the ink runs dry, But the music lives on, it will never die. The audience watches with hollow eyes, A masquerade of truth and lies. The stage is set, the curtains fall, A final bow, a last call. The poet fades, the music slows, But the echoes linger where the river flows. Ink and strings, they’ll meet again, In the hearts of the broken, the souls of men. Oh, ink and strings, they dance tonight, A waltz of words in the gaslight’s fight. The poet’s soul, the musician’s flame, Two twisted threads in a burning frame. Ink and strings, they bleed and bind, A cabaret of the fractured mind. The clockwork heart stops, the music dies, But the poet’s words still fill the skies. Ink and strings, they’ll never part, A steampunk hymn for the broken heart.