Dust on the keys... The velvet rots where no one sits... A pale hall swallows every step I take, The seats are rows of hollow wooden graves. I touch the keys and one note bleeds alone, A ghost of sound that no one ever saves. The mirror on the stage is cracked and black, It holds a face that will not echo back. The curtains breathe with mildew and with age, This is the room where harmony took stage. But every string is rusted in its case, And every bow is stripped of weight and grace. The tune we left unfinished in the air, Still hangs like smoke that no wind ever clears. Do you hear it ringing through the floor? The chord we struck before they locked the door. It echoes in the wood and in the walls, A harmony that walks these empty halls. This hall still holds the shape of what we played, The resonance of every note we made. Even the dust remembers every tone, Before the final song was left alone. I found your name scratched deep inside the wood, A childish mark that no one understood. The air is thick with promises we broke, And every shadow wears a heavy cloak. Just one more note... Before the dark... This hall still holds the shape of what we played, The resonance of every note we made. Even the dust remembers every tone, Before the final song was left alone. Dust on the keys... The velvet rots... And no one sits...
