We drift in pixelated dreams, chasing echoes in the static, 42nd note in a forgotten symphony, searching for that missing beat.
Transmission unstable. Rewind. Play. Pause. Glitch. Ever wonder if the radio's singing to you, in frequencies only the brave dare to traverse?
Verse unknown, syllables scattered like digital rain across an empty street. You can almost hear the synth weep.
Chorus echoes through the wires, a call to the void. Inhale the neon haze, exhale the forgotten.