and in tonight’s news another city falls. There’s a radio on the kitchen shelf, dusty, but I still can’t turn it off. Every night at 9 they read the names like a prayer stitched in sorrow and flame. Mom sits still with her head bowed low, holding letters from years ago. She says, They’re not just numbers, you know Then the static whispers like a ghost. I try to sleep, but the voices stay marching through my mind like a lost parade. Every headline feels like a goodbye, every silence sounds like someone’s cry. Ghosts on the radio, calling through the static, Broken songs of souls gone tragic. They echo in the night, in every broadcast wave, Names of the brave no one could save. I turn the dial but they don’t let go They’re haunting every frequency I know. These ghosts on the radio won’t leave me alone. I hear laughter from a memory’s room, before uniforms and fields of doom. Now the stations play sirens and prayer, as if hope’s too fragile to air. Brother’s photo on the window frame, his coat still hanging, untouched by rain. The radio says, another gone today, but never dares to say his name. And the streets grow quiet, like they know, something sacred won’t come home. Still the signal bleeds through the night, soft like a lullaby for those who fight. Ghosts on the radio, calling through the static, Broken songs of souls gone tragic. They echo in the night, in every broadcast wave, Names of the brave no one could save. I turn the dial but they don’t let go They’re haunting every frequency I know. These ghosts on the radio won’t leave me alone. Maybe someday the voices will rest, find a quiet place in someone’s chest. But tonight their whispers roam, searching for a way back home. Ghosts on the radio, singing through the pain, Stories washed away like tears in the rain. And even when the signal starts to fade, their memory refuses to decay. I turn it off but I still hear every echo, every fear. These ghosts on the radio stay near. if you can hear this you’re not alone.
