The wind weeps through broken spires, a hollow hymn for the lost and the wandering,
Shadows curl in the corners of silence, listening… always listening,
I walk where the sun does not yet linger, barefoot kisses on cobble-stone miseries,
Ghosts trapped beneath my skin, fingertips of forgotten memories, tracing my veins,
Tell me, do you hear the call? The voice beneath the wind, the echoing yet left repeated,
Never spoken, forever always known.
Somewhere in the marrow of dust, a promise lingers,
Frozen reality, whispers of delusion in a broken cathedral with cracked glass portraits.