Perhaps my soul, a keeper old,
Of tales and wine, of dreams retold.
A tavern near a restless sea,
With songs of what can never be.

Stories shared with fleeting grace,
Names forgotten, left no trace.
But echoes linger in the hall,
Of voices lost beyond recall.

The glass reflects a fleeting past,
Moments fragile, fading fast.
Yet through the haze, a truth appears,
Beyond the grasp of time and years.

My soul won’t dwell in settled lore,
Nor anchor deep in days of yore.
It moves, it asks, it seeks the sky,
A question shaped where echoes lie.

Chorus:
Before the self, before "I am,"
There’s a silence, vast and spanned.
A tide that knows no time, no frame,
A breath beyond the cage of name.


The Tavern of Memory (Albatross III)

Nomad lyricist and techologist. Very obsessed with reviving classic poetry and using music as a time machine where distant epochs intertwine.

The Tavern of Memory (Albatross III)

RaiNaWi