[Verse 1]
sun leans pale on concrete skin—
faded paint and peeling light,
all the colors worn thin, quiet
like some dead-end town in my head.
(“city breathes shallow,” a hum in the bones)

[Verse 2]
glass shivers down, slow and brittle,
sidewalks split where roots once grew.
everything sharp-edged, held together
(“and in the hum, I forget what I meant”)

[Chorus]
are we ghosts in glass and wire?
wired bones and worn-out teeth—
or are we just here, half-alive,
haunting ourselves in these streets?

[Verse 3]
black grids rise, windows blank
like a thousand empty eyes, staring
at the cracks we used to hide in,
at everything we lost.
(“every breath is borrowed, spent”)

[Bridge]
I reach for something, half-memory,
but the warmth flickers out too soon—
leaves fall, dry in my fingers,
scatter like bones from an empty hand.

[Chorus]
are we ghosts in glass and wire?
wired bones and worn-out teeth—
or are we just here, half-alive,
haunting ourselves in these streets?

[Outro]
and the hum just keeps on ringing,
soft as bones in empty hands—
the city holds its breath around us,
waiting to let us go.

Written by a human with AI assistance. Cover image made with Midjourney.

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