Curtain dust is like magic falling onto the stage
And the rickety crickety creaking of the aged floor
Holds all the birthrights to the moments constantly being born.

The sea of floating souls do not desire anything more
But to submerge themselves in the waves of the anthems
And underwater they try to bottle the fallen curtain magic.

Wavelengths of harmonies flow through space
Beckoning for a flow, a feeling, a connection between each other
Moments agilely fleet away, but here time is endless.