World below. Under the station, under the rain, there’s a second map stitched into the drain. I missed my turn in the bright, hard room, found a door in the wall like a bruise in bloom. Names fall away here. Coins lose their shine. You step through the hinge-line, and the dark says, “Mine.” Down where the lost ones go I learn the rule again: if nobody sees you, love, you can vanish in London. Down where the lost ones go the old holes still hum on. I walk and I answer low: there is a world below. A girl with a wound in the shape of a key, a broken little kingdom, and a knife in the sleeve. The city above keeps its polished face, but this one bites back in a secret place. The alleys remember. The stone remembers. Even the saints here sleep in the embers. Down where the lost ones go I learn the rule again: if nobody sees you, love, you can vanish in London. Down where the lost ones go the old holes still hum on. I walk and I answer low: there is a world below. No clean escape, no easy light, just the bargain of shadow and bite. If you want your name, you pay the cost, and every found thing was once first lost. Down where the lost ones go I learn the rule again: if nobody sees you, love, you can vanish in London. Down where the lost ones go the old holes still hum on. I walk and I answer low: there is a world below. World below.
