2602044468273
Echoes of the night
02/04/2026
Brunela Crochenci
Brunela Crochenci
,
Brunela Crochenci
,
Lyrics:
She’s never looking back again.
She’s leaving ‘cause she feels encaged.
Not a chaser;
she’s a sailor,
sailing.
She transmutes her pain into songs,
a ritual to be reborn.
She moves slowly,
so slowly, slowly.
Nobody sees her like I do,
and nobody sees me like she does.
She looks right through me
and knows the real me,
the real me.
Oh, she savors and embraces change,
moving like a mystic memory.
She breaks my fences,
all my defenses.
And I know she’s sad at night;
I can hear it in the way she talks to the sky.
And I know she’s cold inside;
you can tell by the way she hugs herself at night,
waiting for the sun to rise.
When everybody seems so far away,
they lose the title of the closest ones.
There’s emptiness,
a wrenching emptiness left.
Those dreams I thought were almost dead
are igniting my whole soul again.
She’s fading,
the old me is fading.
And I know she’s done with life;
I can hear it in the way she writes her lines at night.
And I know she’s dead inside;
you can tell by the words she carves into her rhymes:
“Why should I stay
when everybody leaves in the end?”
And she knows she can’t look back;
there’s no point in grieving an immature rose’s death.
Loneliness,
sweet loneliness,
guide me to my destiny.
Something calls her name from far away.
Oh, she’s tired of farewells,
she’s tired
of being the outsider.
There’s a road casting her a spell,
oh she’s serious about attending.
She refuses
to be the observer.
Loneliness,
sweet loneliness,
let me dwell inside the silence
to become the myth.
I’ll be the eternal alchemist,
proud to show my thorns
as an extension of my soul
Night is honest in its own dark ways,
like the lyrics of an old song.
And I know she’ll find her way out
of this empty, dreamless town that drains her light.
And she knows there’ll be no turning back
on the day I see her singing
at that vintage bar.
And I know,
and I know,
and I know,
and I know,
and I know,
and I know I won’t find love
because the soul I want
is almost impossible to find.
And I’m sure she burns inside.
She’s an arsonist of souls,
and she’s burning mine.
And I know,
and I know,
and I know,
and I know,
and I know
The days will be gone,
and my songs will still remain
like echoes of the night.
Like echoes of the night.
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