Let notes dissolve the shadows.

Storm clouds brew where light once dwelled—

Gloom’s fingers clutch the heart,

Sapping vigor to hollow shells.

Chains forged from phantom iron

Cinch tighter with each labored breath.

Even sunlit souls know midnight’s weight.

Meaning crumbles to dust.

Passion’s flame gutters low,

Relationships fray like aged strings.

The mind, once keen, now drowns in fog—

How to reclaim what darkness stole?

The cure hums in minor keys—

Not melody, but soul-speech.

This music breathes where words fail,

Plucking resonance from silent voids.

A single chord cracks despair’s shell.

Notes cascade—worlds reshape.

Gravity releases its claim.

Each measure charts our secret odyssey:

Scars map the path, yet stars still pierce the veil.

Here, anguish thins to mist;

Here, hope kindles in bone-deep silence.

Rhythm steadies fractured pulses.

We see: the trap was self-woven.

Memory blurs—edges soften to amber.

Past and present merge in the bridge’s rise,

Forged not in fire, but forgiveness.

Music’s truth: Chaos births harmony.

The scream becomes a lullaby.

In vibrato’s tremor, life reshines—

Dewdrops glint on wilted petals,

Laughter etches lines of light.

Let the prelude begin anew.

Open veins to sonic balm.

Where the last note lingers,

A key turns in the soul’s locked door.

（James Horner 《The Ludlows》）