Old, but barely touched, I can still hear their songs.
Songs of praise, songs of anguish, they long
Longing for resurrection in the cool summer air
Longing for my grip to bear
Mysteries within, legends forgotten, waiting and foretold
Creased, bound and placed in a shrine, threefold
They hum in the distance alone without sound
They sing in the darkness as if I am bound
Bound to their memories as I lie awake
Bound to their echoes, my mistakes
Light of solace, light of pain, no more can I keep
A swirl of intonation, their secrets weep
Weep with fears built up inside
Weep with truths I must abide
Relics bound to me, treasures in my chest
Standing tall, proud, wanting me to be my best
Hell in the eye, static in the ear
A click, a light, and the taste of tear
The songs fade
But the ash remains
-old letters
true to form 