We've got no biological clock and I swear we'll never age.
We're vampires and goblins and undead things. We have time for this nonsense. Just little mutations in the gene pool.
I can only pray that we'll evolve into something greater.

Whispers in the dark of missing treasures broken hearts and broken things.

Eyes hiding in the shadows, stolen glances, second chances.

Roads not traveled chances not taken, walls put up and names mistaken. Broken people and torn heartstrings are everything.

You have the feelings that aren’t there; you live life on someone else’s dare. You aren’t you, you aren’t him at all. You don’t know where you're going and yet you never cared, you don’t know what you’re missing and it  just isn’t fair but you don’t mind, you never mind at all.

Hidden people in the dead of night and whispers of the final fight echo as they drift against the wind.

Ghosts of past regrets and empty sins haunt you from the outside in. You’re on the edge of breaking, and you tell yourself you’re whole. A whole mess of scrambled, jumbled lies of histories and more demise will plague you through the rest of your days.

You feel the ones that aren’t there you live life paying another stranger’s fare. You aren’t you, you aren’t anyone at all. You don’t know where you and you don’t care, your heart is missing and it’s so unfair, but you mind, you never seemed to mind. You still glance over your shoulder from time to time, you sing in a different rhyme, you sing a tune with a broken beat and melody.
 

It was the notes, the rhythm, the lyrics, the speed. It was everything and nothing. It was the world, all captured into a single song.

Song.

Such a word.

Four letters isn’t enough to capture the things that the melodies can.

A thousand letters still couldn’t create the right word, the worthy word.

You were a drummer. You wanted to beat it all away. Beat away the sadness and anger and memories until they are nothing more than a steady drumbeat.

Turn the things that hurt you into a heartbeat that everyone can hear, everyone can feel. They can hear your pain with every tap and every crash of the symbol. They hear it and they feel it in the fibers of their very being.

It was the roar of the crowd that enthralled you. Thousands of hearts beating along to your rhythm, the rhythm you create with every rattle and hum. It was the roar of the crowd.

Charmer.

It was your charm that captured them and kept them.

“Set him in front of a camera now, tell him to smile, look this way now.”

 It’s all for the press. They want another pretty face. They’re talking magazine covers and interviews, even though your heart is beating along to your calling. The world has different ideas.

Starstruck.

At first you were a starstruck child, not knowing or fearing the strange new world around you. You took it with ease. Red carpets, stages, microphones, photographs. You welcomed it all into your life. It was glitz and glory for so long, it seemed.

Short lived.

It all faded away, the glory and the scars. The people came and went and forgot. You were left with nothing but a set of drums and a million memories. Pick up the drumsticks, take a seat, lose yourself once again.

Rattle the drums, just rattle and hum.

Whispertown, this is a whispertown.

We quiet our voices to speak of the things that cannot be said.

We whisper, our voices drifting off against some belligerent southern wind.

This is a whispertown, our whispertown.

We are the ghosts, the shadows, the empty things. Complete and lacking at the same time.

We are the images that fade over time.

We are the black and white photographs- burned and forgotten.

We are the things that drift away, the forgotten broken hearts and the summer memories that die away with age.

We are the memories that depart with the old ones, the wise and knowing.

We are the things that you can always hear but never see. We’re invisible, completely undetectable. Your racing heartbeat is the only thing that knows we’re here. You can feel us all around you, but your eyes deceive you every time. Your senses become lies, your instincts become everything.

Instinct, the thing they told you was a lie. All along it was the only truth.

So all along, were the truths the lies, and the lies the truths?

We are.

            We were.

                        We will always be.

Welcome to the whispertown.

Whisper, whisper, whisper…give to us your last whispered litany.