Hollow Veins

There are moments when life still seems to move, but only faintly — as if something continues by habit after meaning has already left.

Hollow Veins inhabits that suspended state: motion without fullness, pulse without presence, continuation without certainty.

What remains is not collapse, but emptiness carried forward. A body of echoes. A current with no real destination.

And still, something travels through it all. Not hope, not peace, perhaps not even desire — only the trace of what once flowed with purpose.

It is in that quiet circulation that the song breathes: between survival and absence, between what endures and what has already gone.