• Private airwaves with broken voices
    Traveling through rusted speakers
    To an imaginary audience just waiting to listen
    Recorded not a second before tragedy descended

    But there was not a person to hear their cries
    No one to listen to desperate lies
    Just a breeze flowing through barren skies
    The velvet whisper of bittersweet goodbyes

    Cars left askew parked awkwardly in the streets
    Small wisps of air gently caress the fallen leaves
    Assorted items and scraps litter the parched ground
    Crunches and clangs echo through decrepit buildings

    Once beautiful creations become worn-out and decayed
    Magnificently bright colors slowly start to fade
    Desolate parks where children once played
    Become no more than a mindless charade

    Lights flicker weakly illuminating vacant spaces
    Water drips softly from an unturned faucet
    Memories everlasting in pictures and portraits
    Acquiring dust from the many years they have stayed

    Another day passes like nothing has changed
    A new feeling of solitude washes over the horizon
    While in reality, everything is proceeding normally
    Coping with the absence of one vital thing


    After we have gone,
    What will happen?