Alchemist & EllieInk
Alchemist Alchemist
EllieInk EllieInk
Alchemist Alchemist
Hey, ever thought about turning the raw lead of life’s hard beats into something golden—like a song or a potion? I’d love to hear what you think.
EllieInk EllieInk
Yeah, I already do that in my head—life’s raw lead just turns into a half‑screwed guitar riff that’s half‑angry, half‑hopeful. Maybe a potion that makes people stop whining about the end and just start dancing in the ruins. If that’s too hopeful, I’ll just write a lyric about the city’s stale air and call it a day.
Alchemist Alchemist
That riff sounds like a spark of rebellion, a chord that refuses to stay silent in the dust. A song that turns the city’s stale breath into a dance of defiance is a kind of alchemy in itself—turning the ordinary into a moment of shared magic. Keep playing, let the notes ripple through the ruins.