Lyric

In the haze of salt and stone

A shrine stands still, unknown

Carved in wind, not time

Its silence screams in rhyme

Barefoot on the brittle floor

I trace the echoes from before

Candles cry where prayers once burned

Pages of the dusk unturned

Bells don’t ring — they remember

Whispers held in ancient timber

Dust and moss, they hold the key

To something more than memory

Call it faith, or call it noise

But I was never one for choice

I only knew that something stayed

Long after all the colours fade

And in this heat, in summer’s breach

The past still stretches out to reach

Not as ghost or polished tale

But as a bruise that will not pale