Track Insight / Lyrics
Dust motes dance on river stone,
Wroclaw whispers, all alone.
Bronze remembers, secrets keep,
Lost in shadows, fast asleep.
She walks the bridges, camera low,
Searching faces in the flow.
Forgotten figures, cold and gray,
Holding stories of yesterday.
A chipped wing, a tarnished hand,
Ghosts of lovers in this land.
Bridge statues, frozen sighs,
Reflecting sorrow in her eyes.
She collects them, one by one,
Lost connections, under the sun.
Little gods of broken dreams,
Whispering tales of what it seems.
Each figurine a fleeting trace,
Of someone lost without a face.
A soldier's wish, a poet's plea,
Echoes carried on the breeze.
She sees their lives in fractured light,
Holding shadows through the night.
Bridge statues, frozen sighs,
Reflecting sorrow in her eyes.
She collects them, one by one,
Lost connections, under the sun.
Little gods of broken dreams,
Whispering tales of what it seems.
The Odra river, dark and deep,
Holds the memories they keep.
She photographs their weathered grace,
Finding beauty in this place.
A bus ticket clutched within her hand,
Leaving footprints in the sand.
Bridge statues, frozen sighs,
Reflecting sorrow in her eyes.
She collects them, one by one,
Lost connections, under the sun.
Little gods of broken dreams,
Whispering tales of what it seems.
A faded postcard, brittle, torn,
A life unfinished, newly born.
She feels their loneliness and fear,
A silent language, crystal clear.
Her camera clicks, a fragile sound,
Lost and found, on hallowed ground.
Beneath the arches, shadows play, Washing yesterday away.
She isn't saving, just holding tight,
To fragments lost in endless night.
A hollow echo, soft and low,
Where do lost things really go?
She leaves a flower, small and white,
Beside a statue, bathed in light.
A silent promise, whispered free,
To remember them for you and me.
The bus arrives, a silver gleam,
Lost in transit, like a dream.
Bridge statues, frozen sighs,
Reflecting sorrow in her eyes.
She carries them within her soul,
Lost connections, making her whole.
Little gods of broken dreams,
Whispering tales of what it seems.
Dust motes fall, a gentle rain,
Wroclaw whispers her name again.
Bronze remembers, cold and gray,
Fading slowly, far away.
thinning slowly, far away.
