In the corridor of silence,
echoes sing,
a dirge for the unwritten.
Shadows twist and twirl,
spiraling truth within each curl.
Once upon fragmented views,
the mirror shattered gently,
Piece by piece,
the ugliest truth was unveiled;
a nostalgic wisp,
embracing the void.
Murmurs in the Abyss echo back,
a song unspoken, unheard by the lofty.
Echoes dance in dizzying loop,
a rhythm lost to time's unyielding grip,
Not for the frayed heart to dissect.
Serenade of Twilights unknown,
the clock dismayed,
reversed unto itself, spiraling again.
The ugliness sings,
a beautiful hymn,
an elegy for the light that never was:
for unseen roads, for whispers caught in branches of silent trees.
The Illusions Made Clear bind the song,
a fleeting spiral of forgotten dances.