In the Dust

Coated with dust, unseen in thie place.
Specks of joyous memories, coating it's surface.
Up in this room, high above the noise.
Old times cry out in one tiny, simple voice.
Out to the people, that never wander near.
To the bustle, far, far away from here.
But one small voice shall not be heard.
For all memories are forgotten at the end of the road.