The music never dies,
Even when you hear it for that fading last minute,
and it sounds the furthest away its ever been.
Some days it plays without request,
Winter mornings spent staring,
and listening.
Big, big sounds,
And sounds for the little soul,
Warm melancholy.
Ear to the conch,
playlists on repeat,
Endless infinite.
Even when you hear it for that fading last minute,
and it sounds the furthest away its ever been.
Some days it plays without request,
Winter mornings spent staring,
and listening.
Big, big sounds,
And sounds for the little soul,
Warm melancholy.
Ear to the conch,
playlists on repeat,
Endless infinite.
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