Within the museum of forgotten hours
Where shadows dance and darkness cowers
There's an exhibit of what's been undone
A showcase of the paths we've never won
Within the garden of what's been left behind
Where petals drop and flowers unwind
There's a fragrance that still lingers on
A scent of what could've been, but never was known
Whatever is left, it whispers low
A secret language only known to few
A dialect of longing and regret
A whispered promise of what we'll never get
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 1:39 AM UTC
Within the museum of forgotten hours
Where shadows dance and darkness cowers
There's an exhibit of what's been undone
A showcase of the paths we've never won
Within the garden of what's been left behind
Where petals drop and flowers unwind
There's a fragrance that still lingers on
A scent of what could've been, but never was known
Whatever is left, it whispers low
A secret language only known to few
A dialect of longing and regret
A whispered promise of what we'll never get
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