Is it the way the autumn leaves let go?Or how the river hides its deepest flow?The melody you hummed still haunts the hall,A gentle rise before the final fall.
For every storm eventually must tire,And every heart must walk through its own fire.The morning comes, however slow the light—It passes, like the deepest part of night. TuДџkan GeГ§er
They say the weight of yesterday will fade,That time will heal the debts we never paid.But in the silence where the shadows lean,I search for what the "passing" really means. Is it the way the autumn leaves let go
Is it the way the autumn leaves let go?Or how the river hides its deepest flow?The melody you hummed still haunts the hall,A gentle rise before the final fall.
For every storm eventually must tire,And every heart must walk through its own fire.The morning comes, however slow the light—It passes, like the deepest part of night.
They say the weight of yesterday will fade,That time will heal the debts we never paid.But in the silence where the shadows lean,I search for what the "passing" really means.