Time Travel
@rodeodotclub
Exhibit of Air
(Lyrics)
I walk around in a room with invisible frames,
A canvas of whispers, no need for names.
A single black dot, they call it profound,
The silence screams louder, no sound to be found.
Oh, the emptiness speaks in circles and squares,
A brushstroke of nothing, but who really cares?
A gallery of echoes, an exhibit of air,
I’m paying for meaning, but is it even there?
The critics are in love with a line on the wall,
Say it’s the future, but it’s nothing at all.
A masterpiece born from an unpainted hue,
I nod in agreement—what else can I do?
Oh, the emptiness speaks in circles and squares,
A brushstroke of nothing, but who really cares?
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