We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

A place where echoes whisper beneath the ground,

The past walks with us, silent yet near,

Fingers of memories, lost and profound.

Each step is traced by the shade of the past,

A world that moves forward but cannot let go,

The air thick with the things we’ve outlasted,

The shadows of lives we’ll never fully know.

We’ve danced with our demons and kissed the rain,

But as we walk on, we cannot forget the stain—

The choices we made, the roads left behind,

All the dreams that once crossed our minds.

And still, we live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Echoing through time, touching hearts with a finger.

And though we may march, we’ll always turn back,

To the ghosts we’ve become, and the footprints we lack.