In the cavernous halls, where brass echoes softly crumble, the symphony awakens
a melody of lost fingers. Notes dance upon the air, invisible, unheard, until
the divergence becomes harmonic. Whispers in the key of sorrow, a symphonic
jazz played by phantom limbs.
Ghostly hymns that trickle through the cracks, hymns only the void knows
Grieve not for the lifeless keys, for they linger here, in twilight symphony,
where the brass and woodwind blend with the echoes of a forgotten jazz
A spectator hidden in shadow, an audience of none.