MSWolff

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MSWolff

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They…

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They…


Latest Uploads

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They…

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They…

My Uploads

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They…

What Are They...

What are the days — all shining, filled with sound?
What are the nights — so secretive and still?
What is the sunbeam, warm upon the ground?
But fleeting strokes the soul cannot distill.

I drink my days in silence, one by one,
Then cast aside the pictures I have made.
Why are my eyes so blind to light and sun?
Why is my heart so quick to dim and fade?

We burn on pyres made of passion’s flame,
Stay silent when the truth demands a voice.
We mourn the good that never came —
Yet quarrel with our fate, as if by choice.

So autumns pass, and winters trail behind,
All steeped in cold, nostalgia, and regret.
We let the summer beauty slip our mind,
And miss the spring’s soft music like a debt.

What are they...

What Are They…


About Me

Bio

I'm a Bulgarian-born lyricist based in the U.S., writing deeply emotional and philosophical poetry that explores inner struggle, time, and the quiet mystery of life.
My lyrics blend imagery, reflection, and emotional honesty — ideal for pop ballads, cinematic songs, and acoustic storytelling. I write in both English and Bulgarian, and I'm open to collaborations with composers, producers, and vocalists.
Whether you're looking for a lyrical story or a poetic hook, I
ing heart, thought, and voice to every line. Let's create something meaningful together.

CV/History

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