In the silence of starlit nights, I wander through halls of myth,
where whispers are etched in the very stones beneath my feet.
Here, dreams are not dreams, but shadowy figures dancing in the mist.
I am a lost soul, tethered to these dreams, forever seeking
the echoes of voices that no longer call me by name.
The moon casts a pale light, a fleeting glimpse of hope
amidst the endless corridors of night. Yet, even this light
is but a memory of warmth, forgotten in the chill of despair.
Do you hear it too? The lament of a thousand dreamers,
their voices weaving a tapestry of sorrow and grace?
They cry into the void, their tears turning to mist as they fall.