The fire remembers

Whispers stitched into the plaster,
Where the corners hold their breath.
A map of every ghost I’ve mastered,
In the quiet after death.
The dust is settling on the mantle,
Cold as winter, sharp and deep.

Trying to unwrite the one I’m becoming,
Between the silence and the hum.
Trying to unwrite the one I’m becoming,
Before the ink begins to run.

The vows I entrusted to shadow,
Are peeling back the faded wall.
I’m carving out a narrow hollow,
To catch the echoes as they fall.
No light to guide the way I’m turning,
Just the rhythm of the floor.

The past becomes mortar.
Pain becomes stone.
And quietly...
I begin building a place
That finally knows my name.

Shadows still follow. Never ahead.
The night is the cradle.
But I am not the dead.
The fire remembers my name.

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https://disk.yandex.ru/d/g8-O_k0cQ2auRA

Instrumental composition - via the link:

https://disk.yandex.ru/d/V1SQ6e1UAPYaFg