A town that once burned bright now softly speaks,
through the silence in the alleys and the empty streets.
Smiles turned to shadows, dust in the glass,
hearts grown old while the memories pass.
They said she was just, back in the day,
where the poor stood proud, come what may.
But the youth packed bags, boarded the trains,
left behind walls, soaked in rain.
Lights flicker low, benches alone,
shops boarded up like forgotten homes.
Old men sip coffee with nothing to say,
while the news hums on, grey after grey.
Hearts grow old before the bones,
not from illness — from dying alone.
Squares that once echoed with laughter and sound,
now only hold footsteps, soft and profound.
Elders dragging shoes on worn concrete,
no stories left for the souls they meet.
Hope took a plane with a one-way flight,
left this city to sink into the night.
Ask who’s to blame — no one replies,
just a whisper in corners where silence lies.
Dreams disappeared with the first full-time wage,
and Serres now reads like an empty page.
One generation looks back in regret,
the next one stares in a mirror of debt.
And all that remains is this verse I write,
for a town that fades quietly into the night.
The city’s not dead — she breathes through pain,
in stone signs, old letters, forgotten names.
And maybe one child, with eyes that see,
will bring her back, will set her free.
A town that once burned bright now softly speaks,
through the silence in the alleys and the empty streets.
Smiles turned to shadows, dust in the glass,
hearts grown old while the memories pass.
(Έμπνευση δημιουργίας στίχων και μουσικής: Γιώργος Σερηνός)
