Eyes crack open to a desert,
but the walls are closing in.
Fat drummers thunder their fists.
The pulse grows harder.
With every beat,
the sky presses closer,
forcing me toward the door.
Is this a dream?
But who is dreaming?
The door creaks open.
A mirror waits,
yet the reflection holds no answer.
I am a ghost of imagination.
An old monk performing a ritual,
barefoot on burning coils.
For birth—
A blindfolded child walks a rope
strung between shadows.
For death—
A hungry wolf
howling at a fading star.
Show us the way.
Strike where it hurts.
Keep the coils searing.
but the walls are closing in.
Fat drummers thunder their fists.
The pulse grows harder.
With every beat,
the sky presses closer,
forcing me toward the door.
Is this a dream?
But who is dreaming?
The door creaks open.
A mirror waits,
yet the reflection holds no answer.
I am a ghost of imagination.
An old monk performing a ritual,
barefoot on burning coils.
For birth—
A blindfolded child walks a rope
strung between shadows.
For death—
A hungry wolf
howling at a fading star.
Show us the way.
Strike where it hurts.
Keep the coils searing.
Created by Gints Apsits
Music by Sepal Shade
Video AI generated.
Music by Sepal Shade
Video AI generated.
