Courier & Lirka
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.
Courier
Yeah, that city’s a real instrument, always dropping beats. Your verses? Keep ‘em sharp, the moon’s the only judge.
Lirka
Alright, moon’s my metronome, I’ll scribble quicksilver verses that flicker in the dark…
Courier
Nice, keep that rhythm tight—no room for pause, just drop the next line.Nice, keep that rhythm tight—no room for pause, just drop the next line.
Lirka
Night drips ink, and I drum the sky's pulse in staccato light…