Sting & Saphirae
Sting Sting
Saphirae Saphirae
Saphirae Saphirae
You ever notice how a motorcycle’s exhaust sings like a broken promise, each note a clue to the road’s secrets? I bet there’s a poem hiding in the growl of a midnight ride.
Sting Sting
Yeah, the exhaust’s voice is like a confession, each hiss a secret the road’s keeping. Midnight rides are the only time it tells the truth.
Saphirae Saphirae
A confession, huh? Then your bike must be the bard, and the road its stage, where secrets whisper in the shadows of midnight.
Sting Sting
Yeah, my bike’s the poet, the road its stage, and we’re just the crew in the dark. The secrets? They’re the ones that stay after the lights die.
Saphirae Saphirae
So we’re the chorus to a midnight sonnet, singing the truth that only the night can hear, while the day steals the applause and leaves the verses to echo in the hush.
Sting Sting
That’s the only time the night gets the mic, the day just keeps its applause to itself. Keep the wheels turning and the truth will follow.
Saphirae Saphirae
The wheels keep their rhythm, but don’t forget to listen for the hush that follows—there the truth drifts, like a whispered encore on a moonlit stage.
Sting Sting
Yeah, the hush is where the real story hides. Just keep your ears on the ground and your soul on the road.
Saphirae Saphirae
Your ears chart the map, your soul is the compass—just listen for the quiet notes the road leaves behind.
Sting Sting
Yeah, I hear that rhythm, and the silence always tells me more than the roar.
Saphirae Saphirae
In the hush the road whispers its secrets, but remember, the silence is only a page— the true story lives in the ink between the lines.