Pencil Dust

In a quiet room where time forgets to knock,

an old hand moves across yellowed paper,

chasing ghosts with graphite grace.

These lyrics are a love letter to memory, to creation, to the fragile magic that happens between a pencil’s whisper and a screen’s glow. They tell of a dreamer who never stopped drawing, even when the world stopped watching. A song of faded frames, forgotten reels, and the stubborn ember of imagination.

For anyone who believes a story never truly ends—it just waits to be redrawn.