The Umbrella Man | Tyuyu

(Verse 1)
(The raindrops ceased their dance,
On the windowpane, they left no chance.)
A silent orchestra, their final refrain,
As if the sky wept and then forgot its pain.
The umbrella man, a shadow in the mist,
His purpose dissolved, like morning dew kissed.
He stood there, forgotten, a relic of gray,
In a world where rainbows fade and colors sway.
(Chorus)
Echoes of gray, where rainbows once bloomed,
In the silence of downpours, our love consumed.
The umbrella man’s silhouette, etched against the mist,
His heartache a symphony, notes that can’t resist.
Echoes of gray, whispered by the breeze,
As memories drip like dew from forgotten trees.
He waits, a sentinel of longing, eyes on the horizon,
In this city of fleeting chances, where dreams are often treason.
(Verse 2)
Puddles gather, reflecting fractured skies,
His umbrella, a shelter for dreams that died.
He waits, perhaps for someone who won’t arrive,
In this melancholy moment, where hope takes a dive.
The umbrella man, shoulders hunched low,
His heartache drips, like raindrops in slow flow.
He wonders if love, too, is a transient guest,
Leaving echoes of longing on a dampened chest.
(Chorus)
Echoes of gray, where rainbows once bloomed,
In the silence of downpours, our love consumed.
The umbrella man’s silhouette, etched against the mist,
His heartache a symphony, notes that can’t resist.
Echoes of gray, whispered by the breeze,
As memories drip like dew from forgotten trees.
He waits, a sentinel of longing, eyes on the horizon,
In this city of fleeting chances, where dreams are often treason.
(Bridge)
The streets, like tear-streaked pages of a book,
He walks, a phantom seeking solace in each nook.
His umbrella, tattered, a relic of shared skies,
Yet love’s downpour eludes him, and hope slowly dies.
(Chorus)
Echoes of gray, where rainbows once bloomed,
In the silence of downpours, our love consumed.
The umbrella man’s silhouette, etched against the mist,
His heartache a symphony, notes that can’t resist.
Echoes of gray, whispered by the breeze,
As memories drip like dew from forgotten trees.
He waits, a sentinel of longing, eyes on the horizon,
In this city of fleeting chances, where dreams are often treason.