There are whispers on the wind,

Murmurs of stolen souls,

The lost, the lonely and the like.

One can see the wind,

Through others' motion.

But they never see within.

To the bleeding, broken and baleful

The sad sighs of a dusty emptiness

Whirring through the air

Systematically

Soundless

Through the mist and the fog

We wander the wind

Whispering to those

Who cannot hear us.

We are the whisperers

And the wind carries us

Through the world

Binding us to nothing.