Turn back, the letters scream— Hollow words lit by dying bulbs, As the sky bleeds its last goodbye.
The road stretches on, empty and cruel, Shadows of men etched in glass, Steering nowhere, faces set to stone.
Behind them, the past hums softly, A chorus of forgotten lights— Flickering, begging, Turn back.
| Artwork | Price | From | To | Time |
|---|
