Dreamscapes
(Dreamscapes — Track I)
(Verse 1)
The first step felt lighter than the ground beneath my feet,
Gravity leaned upward like it wanted me to meet
The ceiling drifting softly where the sky should’ve been,
And the shadows moved ahead as if they knew where I’d begin.
(Pre‑Chorus)
A quiet hum of colour trembled somewhere in the air,
And something in the silence turned its watching toward my stare.
(Chorus)
Dreamscapes breathing where the rules forget their form,
Softly shifting places where the strange becomes the norm.
Every drifting moment folds itself in silver light,
And the world bends slow around me in the edges of the night.
(Verse 2)
A doorway sighed open though I never touched the frame,
The lantern flickered gently like it recognised my name.
The river flowed upward in a spiral made of sound,
And the floor above me waited for my footsteps to be found.
(Pre‑Chorus)
A whisper from tomorrow brushed its fingers through my hair,
And the echo of a memory rose from places never there.
(Chorus)
Dreamscapes breathing where the rules forget their form,
Softly shifting places where the strange becomes the norm.
Every drifting moment folds itself in silver light,
And the world bends slow around me in the edges of the night.
(Bridge)
Time leaned sideways like a curtain in the wind,
I felt my future breathing where the present should’ve been.
A voice I almost recognised was calling from behind,
Speaking words I hadn’t learned but somehow knew inside.
Breakdown (soft, intimate)
Cold light trembling in the hollow of the air,
Something in the quiet asking why I came to wander here.
(Final Chorus)
Dreamscapes breathing where the world forgets its form,
Softly shifting places where the strange becomes the norm.
Let the colours fracture, let the night reshape the day,
’Cause the dream unfolds around me in its quiet, silver way.
(Outro)
A single note lingering like frost upon the dawn,
And the path ahead grows wider as the waking world is gone.
Glass Sky Dreaming
(Dreamscapes — Track II)
(Verse 1)
There’s frost on the doorway of a place I’ve never been,
Silver on the shadows where the daylight should’ve been.
Every step I’m taking leaves a glow across the floor,
Like the dream is waking up and wanting something more.
(Pre‑Chorus)
Crystal echoes tremble in a room without a name,
Walls are shifting colors but they whisper just the same.
(Chorus)
Glass‑sky dreaming in a world that melts and bends,
Frozen little heartbeat where the night begins again.
Everything is drifting like a memory out of tune,
And the stars fall slow like diamonds in a blue monsoon.
(Verse 2)
A hallway turns to water and the water turns to light,
A mirror shows a sunrise in the middle of the night.
I walked into tomorrow and found yesterday asleep,
A staircase curls upward into clouds of silver rain.
The ceiling falls beneath me while the floor begins to rise,
And the shadows cast the light while the light forgets to shine.
(Pre‑Chorus)
Crystal echoes tremble in a room without a name,
Calling me to follow though it never says the same.
(Chorus)
[big, strong, strange)
Glass‑sky dreaming in a world that melts and bends,
Frozen little heartbeat where the night begins again.
Every shifting shadow has a secret breaking through,
And the stars fall slow like tears in a kaleidoscope of blue.
(Bridge)
Time folds softly like a ribbon in the air,
I heard my voice behind me saying words I hadn’t said.
Moments fall apart and reappear from nowhere,
And the dream keeps changing faster than I’ll ever know.
I felt the echo touch me before the sound was born,
And my reflection turned away before I even looked.
(Breakdown)
[whisper, intimate]
Cold light trembling on the edge of what is real,
Something in the silence asking what I want to feel.
(Final Chorus)
Glass‑sky dreaming where the world forgets its form,
Frozen little heartbeat in a place that’s never warm.
Let the colors fracture, let the night come shining through,
’Cause the stars fall slow and every one is turning blue.
(Outro)
A single chime flickers like a breath against the cold,
And the dream dissolves to silver as the story goes untold
The Marsh That Remembers Her
(Dreamscapes — Track III)
(Verse 1 )
The water dreamed her first, before she ever came—
A silhouette of maybe, stitched from twilight’s quiet flame.
She steps where echoes gather, soft as unspoken breath,
And every ripple knows her, though she hasn’t chosen yet.
(Chorus )
The Marsh remembers versions she has never lived at all—
A girl of light, a girl of dusk, a girl who will not fall.
She is almost in the silver, she is maybe in the reeds,
She is not yet in the choosing, where the mirrored future bleeds.
(Verse 2 )
Her shadow walks beside her, but it doesn’t match her feet;
It lingers in the cattails, humming secrets incomplete.
The mist curls like a question, brushing gently at her spine,
As if the world is asking which reflection will be mine?
(Chorus )
The Marsh remembers versions she has never lived at all—
A girl of warmth, a girl of want, a girl who hears the call.
She is almost in the shimmer, she is maybe in the deep,
She is not yet in the naming, where the hidden longings sleep.
(Bridge)
A lantern drifts across the water, glowing with her fear;
Another drifts behind it, lit with something drawing near.
She reaches—just a moment—then the surface folds away,
Showing futures made of moonlight she is not prepared to say.
(Verse 3)
The reeds begin to whisper in a voice she almost knows,
A name that isn’t spoken, but the trembling water shows.
She watches as the sky bends down to drink her trembling face,
And sees the girl she might become step softly in her place.
(Final Chorus)
The Marsh remembers versions she has never lived at all—
A girl of dawn, a girl of dusk, a girl who will not fall.
She is almost in becoming, she is maybe in the light,
She is not yet in the choosing—
but the Marsh holds her tonight.
The Library of Unwritten Hours
(Dreamscapes — Track IV)
(Verse 1)
A book fell up beside me from the shadows on the floor,
Its pages breathing softly like they’d waited here before.
The shelves turned slow in circles, rearranging with a sigh,
And the lanterns drifted downward just to cast their light on high.
(Pre‑Chorus)
A quiet pulse of silver gathered somewhere in the room,
And the minutes fluttered past me like a soft, unfinished tune.
(Chorus)
In the Library of Hours that the world forgot to write,
Where the clocks drip glowing ink and time dissolves into the night,
Every story that I never lived is whispering in the air,
And the books fall upward gently into shelves that weren’t there.
(Verse 2)
A staircase rose to meet me though I never took a step,
And the corridors bent inward like they held a secret kept.
A doorway opened sideways into moments made of rain,
And the words inside a closed book spelled a memory I’d not claimed.
(Pre‑Chorus)
A hush of unborn futures brushed its fingers through my hair,
And the echo of a heartbeat came from hours I didn’t wear.
(Chorus)
In the Library of Hours that the world forgot to write,
Where the clocks drip glowing ink and time dissolves into the night,
Every story that I never lived is whispering in the air,
And the books fall upward gently into shelves that weren’t there.
(Bridge)
Time folded like a ribbon in a wind that wasn’t real,
And a lantern made of yesterday lit things I couldn’t feel.
A book of almost‑choices opened softly at my side,
Showing versions of a life that drifted past but never tried.
(Breakdown — soft, intimate)
Cold light trembling in the hollow of the room,
Something in the silence asking why I never bloomed.
(Final Chorus)
In the Library of Hours that the world forgot to write,
Where the shadows turn to pages and the dawn becomes the night,
Let the stories I abandoned fall like silver through the air,
As the books rise up around me into shelves that weren’t there.
(Outro)
A single page glimmering like frost against the dark,
And the hours I never lived drift away without a mark.
The Hall Of Opening Doors
(Dreamscapes — Track V)
(Verse 1)
A door of held breath stood where the wall had been before,
It dissolved as I exhaled and the light came pouring through the core.
Beyond it — another door, already open in the past,
A frame of yesterday’s warmth that was waiting there to last.
(Pre-Chorus)
A rush of golden colour spilled from somewhere not yet born,
And the air leaned close around me like a page before it’s torn.
(Chorus)
In the Hall where every door opens before I arrive,
Where the light was always waiting just to feel itself alive,
Something bright is rushing toward me through the fractal of the frame,
And the corridor keeps blooming and it whispers, whispers my name.
(Verse 2)
A door of unspoken sound hung half-open in the air,
It finished opening behind me — I was already there.
A petal fell from nowhere through a threshold made of sighs,
And the door I hadn’t reached yet opened slowly in my eyes.
(Pre-Chorus)
A flush of living warmth rose from a moment yet to land,
And a door of warm static pressed itself against my hand.
(Chorus)
In the Hall where every door opens before I arrive,
Where the light was always waiting just to feel itself alive,
Something bright is rushing toward me through the fractal of the frame,
And the corridor keeps blooming and it whispers, whispers my name.
(Bridge)
I stepped through a door of silence that had not decided yet —
It closed into existence at my back, still warm and wet.
Every frame revealed a world already leaning near,
And I remembered being welcome long before I entered here.
[soft, breathless]
Warm light trembling at the edge of what decides to be,
Something in the opening already knowing me.
(Final Chorus)
In the Hall where every door opens before I arrive,
Where the thresholds breathe impossible and everything’s alive,
Let the doors of held breath open, let the static pull me wide,
‘Cause something bright already knows me — and is drawing me inside.
(Outro)
A single door of tomorrow standing gold in what’s to come,
Already open, always open — and I’m finally, finally home.
The Room Where the Forgetting Keeps Its Things
(Dreamscapes — Track VI)
(Verse 1)
A shelf of mornings leaned against a wall without a room,
Each one labelled softly in a handwriting not mine.
A coat hook held a feeling that I’d lost somewhere in June,
And the floor sloped gently toward a drain of fading light.
The air smelled like the colour of a Tuesday I’d forgotten,
And a drawer fell open, showing things I’d given back.
A name sat folded neatly in a box beside the window—
I recognised the shape of it, but not what it had meant.
(Pre-Chorus)
Something in the stillness turned to look at where I’d been,
And a clock on nothing measured time in what had gone unseen.
(Chorus)
In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in careful rows,
Where the half-remembered flickers and the almost-feeling glows,
Every piece of what I’ve lost is filed by weight and colour here,
And the room adds one more item every time I disappear.
(Verse 2)
A mirror held an afternoon that no longer held me back,
And the window showed a garden that had left before I did.
On a table sat a silence I had worn for seven years—
Still folded in the shape of me, but cooling at the edge.
A staircase led to somewhere I had already forgotten going,
And the ceiling pressed the darkness like a thought that never spoke.
A chair held the impression of a grief without a body,
And the light moved like it knew me from a life I hadn’t led.
(Pre-Chorus)
Something breathing softly in the space between the shelves,
And a hum of recognition from a room that keeps itself.
(Chorus)
In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in careful rows,
Where the half-remembered flickers and the almost-feeling glows,
Every piece of what I’ve lost is filed by weight and colour here,
And the room adds one more item every time I disappear.
(Bridge)
I reached for something on a shelf — it moved before I touched it,
Already knowing what I’d want before I’d thought to want.
A door behind me closed on nothing, sealing what I’d been here,
And the window showed me leaving long before I’d turned to go.
On the floor — a thing with no name, only texture,
Warm and faintly breathing, filed under what I never said.
I picked it up and held it, and the room leaned close around me,
Then the thing was someone else’s and my hands had gone to grey.
(Breakdown — soft, disoriented)
Cold hum threading through the catalogues of me,
Something in the filing knows what I came here to keep.
(Final Chorus)
In the Room where the Forgetting keeps its things in fading rows,
Where the still-warm almost-memories line the walls and softly glow,
I have left here something nameless I have not yet learned to miss,
And the room will keep it tidily until I don’t know what it is.
(Outro)
A single object, shelved in me, without a label now,
And the Room adds what I’m carrying — though I couldn’t tell you how.