[Intro]
Silk dusk sweeps the bottle's glassy skin, a quiet breath of dusk.
A few gold coins of sun slip through the hourglass of rain.
[Verse 1]
I watch the cellar of years grow warm with each small breath.
Wine remembers summers in its slow, patient sighs; the room keeps its own time.
Label fades to a map of roads I learned to walk in shadows, and still I drink the memory soft as velvet.
[Pre-Chorus]
Light wanes like a candle learning to forgive its own glow.
Footsteps outline a gentler map on the floor of the mind.
[Chorus]
Moments age in quiet, round like glass; they tilt, they shine, they pass.
I drink the dusk, and in the ache I learn to bend with grace.
Time pours through the body, thin and bright as rain, and I remain—waiting, waking.
[Verse 2]
The bottle loosens its lid of breath, releasing yesterday into today.
Each embered hour slips its label, becoming a whispered line of fate.
The wine grows deeper, not bitter, but certain, a harbor for fragile dawns.
[Pre-Chorus]
Light folds into linen, a soft surrender to what is true.
I count the breaths I’ve saved for tomorrow’s quiet afternoon.
[Chorus]
Moments age in quiet, round like glass; they tilt, they shine, they pass.
I drink the dusk, and in the ache I learn to bend with grace.
Time pours through the body, thin and bright as rain, and I remain—waiting, waking.
[Bridge]
In the silence between then and now, the vines keep time on their own trellis.
Note by note, the heart grows thicker with what it leaves behind.
[Chorus]
Moments age in quiet, round like glass; they tilt, they shine, they pass.
I drink the dusk, and in the ache I learn to bend with grace.
Time pours through the body, thin and bright as rain, and I remain—waiting, waking.
[Outro]
The last light spills like a kiss on the bottle’s curve, and the night remembers me.
I raise the glass to what endures: the slow, patient taste of becoming.
