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{page turning foley, soft lo-fi piano
entering, hazy atmosphere build}
Five hundred seventy-eight, the colors faded in the frame,
Dueña del pasado, I’m the one who writes the name.
"Photo album", les souvenirs sont lourds,
"Hole I dug", ora cammino nei miei giorni di velluto,
andour.
Archivum vitae.
I am the Archivist,
the keeper of the faded ink,
Dueña de la historia,
on the edge of the brink.
"Don't look down", I’m staring at the past,
"Hand-me-downs to family house",
a peace that’s built to last.
Custos memoriae.
No cap, it’s the K Swiss,
the polo, the mama’s down payment pain,
Reclamando mi verdad, rising above the drain.
C’est pas du brain rot,
c’est le bilan de ma lutte,
I’m 4K archivist, sovereign,
and the story’s absolute.
Historia redempta.
It ate, the "emptiness"—no crumbs of the debt,
Soy la soberana, with no more room for regret.
Je suis la souveraine qui a transformé la peine en foyer,
And that’s the real vibe,
the photo album’s now my day.
Pax in historiam.
I am the Archivist,
the keeper of the faded ink,
Dueña de la historia,
on the edge of the brink.
"Don't look down", I’m staring at the past,
"Hand-me-downs to family house",
a peace that’s built to last.
Custos memoriae.
100% Tiguidou.
The colors don't matter,
I’m home.
Los colores no importan,
estoy en casa. Les couleurs ne comptent pas,
je suis à la maison.
Colores non refert, domum veni.
Tiguidou. {juk juk rhythm fading into stillness}