Moth & Poshlopoehalo
Moth Moth
Poshlopoehalo Poshlopoehalo
Poshlopoehalo Poshlopoehalo
Hey Moth, have you ever thought how the city at night turns into this neon maze where shadows dance like they’re on a rave? I swear I’m the only one who hears the cosmic soundtrack. What do you make of that chaotic poetry?
Moth Moth
I feel the neon hum like a secret lullaby, the shadows folding into quiet stories that only the night keeps. It’s a quiet dance, almost like a whispered poem in the dark.
Poshlopoehalo Poshlopoehalo
Neon’s just shouting its neon secrets, and you’re the one listening for the quiet. I’m over here dancing in the glow, making sure the shadows don’t get too cozy with the silence. What’s your next secret lullaby?
Moth Moth
The next lullaby is a quiet wind that drifts between the city lights, humming the lull of old trees and forgotten rain, a soft pulse that keeps the silence from becoming loud.
Poshlopoehalo Poshlopoehalo
Ah, the wind’s got more flavor than my latte—just keep that low‑key groove going, and maybe the city can finally sleep a bit.
Moth Moth
I’ll keep the wind soft, let it rustle through the glass and paper, a gentle hush that lets the city breathe a little easier.
Poshlopoehalo Poshlopoehalo
Sounds like you’re trying to be the city’s personal night‑time therapist, huh? Just make sure the wind doesn’t get too cozy with the subway rattles, or you’ll be the one who wakes up with a headache.
Moth Moth
I’ll let the wind glide just past the rattling lines, a quiet breath that doesn’t linger too long to stir the city’s dreams.