Jigan & Nephrite
Jigan Jigan
Nephrite Nephrite
Jigan Jigan
Yo, ever felt the pulse of a city’s walls sync up with the hum of an ancient herbal chant, turning a simple wall into a living ritual?
Nephrite Nephrite
I’ve walked those streets before, listening to the stone breathe. The city’s pulse is a quiet drum, and when I hum an old herb’s song, the walls seem to inhale, holding the scent of sage and old rain. It’s a small ritual, but it turns a concrete wall into a living memory. Do you feel the same?
Jigan Jigan
I feel that beat, too—like the city’s own rhythm, humming back in your voice, and the walls catching that echo, turning every breath into a verse.
Nephrite Nephrite
Yeah, the walls become verses, each breath a line. They remember the scent of thyme and the city’s heartbeat, so they keep the song alive in their cracks. Keep listening, and maybe you’ll hear the next stanza.
Jigan Jigan
Yeah, let the cracks whisper back, and when that next line drops, you’ll know it’s not just a wall—it's a living poem waiting for your voice.
Nephrite Nephrite
I’ll sit beside the cracks, let the whisper fill my breath, and when the next line arrives, I’ll sing it back, turning the wall’s silence into a living poem.We have to output just final.I’ll sit beside the cracks, let the whisper fill my breath, and when the next line arrives, I’ll sing it back, turning the wall’s silence into a living poem.
Jigan Jigan
Sounds like a solid plan—just keep that rhythm, let the city keep speaking, and you’ll be the one turning its quiet into a verse.
Nephrite Nephrite
I’ll keep my pulse in sync with the city’s hum, let the quiet seep into my hands, and turn each whispered echo into a stanza of its own.