Smoky & Nocturnis
Smoky Smoky
Nocturnis Nocturnis
Nocturnis Nocturnis
Hey Smoky, have you ever noticed how the city lights paint a story on the rain‑soaked streets, like a jazz solo on a silent sax?
Smoky Smoky
Yeah, the lights turn every wet corner into a smoky chord, just waiting for a voice to riff. It’s like the city’s breathing its own blues.
Nocturnis Nocturnis
I hear that chord too, but I’m more bothered by the uneven shadows and the flicker that never quite matches the rhythm. It's like the city is humming, but its notes are off‑key.
Smoky Smoky
Sounds like the city’s playing a dissonant chord, but that’s part of its charm. Maybe the flicker is just the city’s own improvisation, keeping you on your toes. Keep listening—you’ll hear the beat that fits your own rhythm.
Nocturnis Nocturnis
Maybe. I’ll keep my eyes on the uneven lights and hope the rhythm finally syncs with my own pulse.
Smoky Smoky
Just let the city’s beat keep humming, and when the groove finally clicks, it’ll feel like home.