Don't mind the lyrics

He stands where ripples carve a ring,

Too brittle to hear, too soft to sing.

Above him, there lies an obsidian moon,

Casting her shadows—an eclipse too soon.

The trees whisper a voice in fog and mist,

Reflecting a shadow with a haunting twist.

Pulling him down into the isolated oblivion,

Each time a ghost repels a dominion.

The surface turns to cloud and meadow,

Not too deep to sink, nor too shallow.

The air feels heavy with an unnamed fear,

A silence so loud it drowns what's near.

He lingers still, beneath the weeping sky,

A lone silhouette longing to die.

He foreshadows his end, soft yet bold,

Perhaps too late to fix—or left untold.