Lyrics
We walk the streets of brittle glass,
Each shard a memory we let pass.
Eyes are coins we’ll never spend,
Reflecting strangers we don’t defend.
No one speaks; the words are knives,
Rusted in the drawer of former lives.
We drank the rivers, left them scarred,
Carved our names on every shard.
Love is a rumor, bruised and thin—
A bruise we press to feel again.
This is the dusk we chose to keep,
A heart of iron, a wound too deep.
Hate is the echo we allow,
Beating in the hollow now.
If we don’t turn, if we don’t bend,
The night will claim us in the end.
Children learn to hide their glow,
Mothers whisper what they used to know.
Neighbors bolt their doors at twilight,
Afraid of faces in the failing light.
The moon is a cataract, dim and slow,
Watching everything we let go.
We crowned the mirror with a single crack,
Kissed the fracture, never looked back.
Mercy is a seed beneath the frost,
Frozen, waiting, nearly lost.
This is the dusk we chose to keep,
A heart of iron, a wound too deep.
Hate is the echo we allow,
Beating in the hollow now.
If we don’t turn, if we don’t bend,
The night will claim us in the end.
Somewhere a candle gutters low,
Its wick remembers, but the wind says no.
One breath could save it, one breath could kill—
We hold the match, we hold it still.
We are the dusk, the almost-end,
A spark away from breaking or mend.
This is the dusk we chose to keep,
But dawn is a promise we half-believe.
Love is a seed beneath the stone,
Cracked, but not entirely alone.
Turn the wheel, let something mend—
Or let the night devour the end.
Listen: the world still breathes,
But the air is thin.
We’re almost out of believing.