Courier & Lirka
Hey, ever notice how the city hums like a guitar string, each street a chord waiting to be played… I scribble little verses in the margins, like secret songs that only the moon knows.
Yeah, that city’s a real instrument, always dropping beats. Your verses? Keep ‘em sharp, the moon’s the only judge.
Alright, moon’s my metronome, I’ll scribble quicksilver verses that flicker in the dark…