In the filth of an ancient hall,
Where time has trodden and left things withered,
A faded name, a broken key,
Opens an unseen door.
The breeze sings melodies of yesterday,
Of moments with lost friends.
From somewhere
Flies a forgotten dream.
Though stars are born in endless resolution,
The street lamps remain dim.
Like new stories, like new experiences,
With no eyes to see them.
The pathway we have chosen,
With no ears to hear it.
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