Aylin

Red moon over broken stone. Cold winds where the kings were gone. No throne that I call my own. Still I walk through the dusk alone. Dry sands in a restless storm. Old gods in a shattered form. No peace and no place feels warm. Only nights where the ghosts transform. Low flames by a ruined shrine. Lost souls in a fading line. No truth in the ancient signs. Only echoes of a older time. Dark skies over empty graves. Dead stars and forgotten names. If I stopped then the silence stays. Like a curse that the desert saves. Neon rain on cracked front glass. Train smoke when moving through the underpass. Same red lights when the sirens flash. City eats every soul too fast. Loose wires hanging from motel signs. Dead phones lighting exhausted eyes. No sleep in these crooked nights. Blue screens and polluted skies. Broken elevators, flickering floors. Late-night voices behind thin doors. Cheap perfume mixed with cigarette smoke. Half these people look barely woke. Taxi lights on a flooded street. Wet black shoes and exhausted feet. Subway walls full of peeling paint. Everybody here looks fake or faint. Red Moon over broken stone. Cold winds where the kings were gone. No throne that I call my own. Still I walk through the dusk alone. Dry sands in a restless storm. Old gods in a shattered form. No peace and no place feels warm. Only nights where the ghosts transform. Low flames by a ruined shrine. Lost souls in a fading line. No truth in the ancient signs. Only echoes of a older time. Dark skies over empty graves. Dead stars and forgotten names. If I stopped then the silence stays. Like a curse that the desert saves. Neon rain on a cracked front glass. Train smoke when moving through the underpass. Same red lights when the sirens flash. City eats every soul too fast. Loose wires hanging from motel signs. Dead phones lighting exhausted eyes. No sleep in these crooked nights. Just blue screens and polluted skies. Broken elevators, flickering floors. Late-night voices behind thin doors. Cheap perfume mixed with cigarette smoke. Half these people look barely woke. Taxi lights on a flooded street. Wet black shoes and exhausted feet. Subway walls full of peeling paint. Everybody here looks fake or faint. Red Moon over broken Stone. Cold winds where were gone. Throne that I call the