There’s a whisper hidden in the air’s refrain,

a strange rhythm shifting, hard to explain.

The horizon quivers, bearing its weight,

as if time itself wants to hesitate.

What if this is the final rehearsal to play?

The perfect cycle breaking away?

Everything crumbles, stone by stone,

a game with no rules, a path unknown.

When all goes quiet and the ground starts to fall,

we’re just particles drifting, too small to call.

An unseen thread that chaos will erase,

the end of the world leaves no trace, no face.

The tides murmur secrets they’ll never retrieve,

the logic of the cosmos starts to deceive.

In the heart of the storm, silence takes its throne,

and every breath feels less like our own.

What if the end’s just a cleverly hidden start,

a twisted cycle pulling us apart?

It’s not the fall that burdens the mind,

but the void of all that’s left behind.

When all goes quiet and the ground starts to fall,

we’re just particles drifting, too small to call.

An unseen thread that chaos will erase,

the end of the world leaves no trace, no face.

And so we move on, unaware of the scheme,

dust in the wind, fading from the dream.

If the world should break, we’ll be the absence,

floating through nothing, losing our presence.

When all goes quiet and the ground starts to fall,

we’re just particles drifting, too small to call.

An unseen thread that chaos will erase,

the end of the world leaves no trace, no face.