
Shadows Cast By Dawn
post-hardcore, metalcore, synths, piano, keytars
May 4th, 2024suno
Lyrics
Oh, the sun casts long shadows at the dawn,
Stretching out like the yawns of a tired night.
I walk alone, where have the stars all gone?
In the quiet, every step echoes a plight.
Found a feather lying on the cold ground,
Used to soar high, now just drifting away.
Every dream feels like it's bound,
By the chains of yesterdays that sway.
Rain falls like tears from a weeping sky,
Each drop a tale of hopes I've known.
Washing the streets, but not the why,
Of why this heart beats so alone.
I've whispered secrets to the passing breeze,
Hoping it carries them where I cannot go.
Yet, they return, never quite at ease,
In the echoes of my soul, they just echo.
Staring out across the restless sea,
The waves beat against the shore like fate.
Each crash a reminder of what’s meant to be,
Or just random acts we narrate?
Now the night, it whispers back to me,
In shadows and dreams that start to blend.
Is this all there is, or is there more to see?
Woe is me, until the very end.
Glimpses of laughter, memories in frames,
Scattered across my mind like fallen leaves.
But autumn lingers in these games,
Where joy is a guest that always leaves.
In the mirror, a face not quite my own,
Time has etched lines with a steady hand.
In those eyes, a solitude fully grown,
A map of journeys I didn't plan.
Beneath the moon’s watchful, silent glow,
I trace the contours of my shadowed thought.
The night’s embrace, a steady, gentle flow,
Of moments, life has carelessly forgot.
The stars above, do they weep for the sun?
Or do they celebrate their brief, brilliant burn?
My questions fade as the night is done,
In the dawn’s light, too bright, too stern.
Each day a page, each moment a line,
Written in the ink of fleeting breath.
Woe is me, in the story that’s mine,
Walking towards the inevitable death.
Or do they celebrate their brief, brilliant burn?
My questions fade as the night is done,
In the dawn’s light, too bright, too stern.
Each day a page, each moment a line,
Written in the ink of fleeting breath.
Woe is me, in the story that’s mine,
Walking towards the inevitable death.
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