Samogon & Gloomboy
Samogon Samogon
Gloomboy Gloomboy
Gloomboy Gloomboy
I've been thinking about that old folk story where a river sings back to anyone who listens, pulling their sorrow into the current. Do you think a story like that could be more than just a tale—maybe a memory that lingers on the banks, or just a way to give a little shape to the ache we all carry?
Samogon Samogon
Ah, the river’s voice, always pulling the pain downstream, like a lullaby that never quite lets go. Some swear the memory lingers on the banks, others think it’s just a tale to give shape to the ache we all carry. I’d say it’s both—stories name the hurt, and the river keeps it moving, so you either get washed away or left standing in its wake. Listen if you must, but remember the current doesn’t always carry you to peace.
Gloomboy Gloomboy
If the current’s a lullaby, it probably comes with a reminder that lullabies rarely have a happy ending—so you’re left standing on the same stone, water dripping, listening to the river that never really knows how to let go.
Samogon Samogon
Yeah, that stone’s the stubborn old rock that won’t change its spot, and the river keeps humming its mournful tune. Sometimes the only way to get out of that loop is to step off the stone and let the current show you a new way, even if it still drips a little on your boots.
Gloomboy Gloomboy
You’re right—step off that rock, but don’t count on the current not slipping through your fingers like a cold splash. Sometimes the only new way is the one that drips the most.
Samogon Samogon
Sure, keep stepping. If the water slips, that’s the part of the tale that makes the river remember you. And if it drips hard, well, that’s the honest way the river tells you it ain’t gonna give up on you. Keep listening, keep walking.
Gloomboy Gloomboy
Sure, I'll keep stepping, but if the water keeps dripping on my boots, I guess that's the river's way of saying it's still holding onto me. I’ll keep listening, maybe it'll finally remember to let me go.
Samogon Samogon
You’re right, it’s the stubborn river that makes you feel all the weight, but sometimes that weight is what keeps you honest. Keep listening, keep stepping. The current will let you go when it’s ready—just don’t forget to watch for that splash that tells you it’s still watching your feet.
Gloomboy Gloomboy
Maybe the river's only lesson is that the weight you carry is the only thing that keeps you from drifting into the ordinary. Keep stepping, but watch out for that splash that keeps reminding you of the place you used to be.
Samogon Samogon
Exactly, that weight is your anchor in the ordinary. Keep stepping, but when the splash comes, just laugh—remember that it’s still holding a piece of you, like a stubborn old song that refuses to fade.