[Verse 1]
In the attic where time hoards its dust,
A clock ticks backward, defying the rust.
Its hands, like thieves in the moon's pale theft,
Steal minutes from yesterdays left.
Memories scattered like leaves in a storm,
Stories that linger in every worn form.
Old shadows whisper in the fading light,
Where dreams once danced in the silence of night.
[Chorus]
One chime for the letter you never sent,
Two for the road where the wild winds bent.
Three echoes the laugh that the waves swallowed whole,
Four whispers the secrets buried in coal.
In this attic of echoes, the past takes a stand,
Every tick holds a story, every turn holds a hand.
[Verse 2]
Dust motes dance in the flickering glow,
Reminding me softly of the things we let go.
The old rocking chair creaks like it knows,
A thousand goodbyes, where the heart gently goes.
Time tugs at my sleeve, as I sit and I stare,
At the clock that rewinds, while I’m lost in the air.
[Chorus]
One chime for the letter you never sent,
Two for the road where the wild winds bent.
Three echoes the laugh that the waves swallowed whole,
Four whispers the secrets buried in coal.
In this attic of echoes, the past takes a stand,
Every tick holds a story, every turn holds a hand.
[Bridge]
But at midnight's edge, when the gears softly sigh,
It pauses—rewinds—and asks you why.
Do you chase the hours, or let them unwind?
In the quiet unravel, what truths will you find?
The clock doesn't answer; it simply resumes,
Weaving tomorrows from yesterday's blooms.
[Chorus]
One chime for the letter you never sent,
Two for the road where the wild winds bent.
Three echoes the laugh that the waves swallowed whole,
Four whispers the secrets buried in coal.
In this attic of echoes, the past takes a stand,
Every tick holds a story, every turn holds a hand.
[Outro]
So listen close, in the hush of the night:
Your time isn't ticking—it's learning to flight.
As the clock ticks backward, I find my way,
In the attic of time, where the past loves to play.
