Siren Void - Salt for the Sleepwalkers | Original Prog-Rock Song

“Not every road wants to be understood… some just want to be walked.”
This is Salt for the Sleepwalkers — a dark, poetic, atmospheric prog-rock journey built on surreal imagery, hidden meaning, and a sense of wandering between dreams and memory.
Let it pull you in, confuse you a little, and stay with you long after the last note.

I woke with sand in my veins
Like someone dragged me through a forgotten dream.
The clocks were humming in low voices,
Arguing about time they never kept.
A mirror leaned against the doorway
And mouthed a name no one remembers
Maybe mine, maybe not.
Hard to tell with the static of being alive.

And the sun rose sideways,
Like it was ashamed to be seen.
Birds folded their wings into origami words
And warned me not to read them.

So I followed the faultlines
To where the sleepwalkers keep their salt
A place where silence tastes like truth
And every shadow tries on your face.
If you’re lost, you won’t know it;
If you’re found, you won’t believe it.
The roads don’t care which way you go,
Only that your footprints tremble a little.

A stranger handed me a compass
With no needle, only a heartbeat.
Said, “Point it anywhere;
The direction doesn’t matter, only the moving.
His smile was cracked porcelain
But warmer than the streetlight pretending to be a moon.
I asked him where he was going —
He said, “Forward, backward… whichever hurts enough to be real.”

And the sky peeled open
Like a mouth trying to apologize.
Grey rain fell in perfect rhythm
Like it practiced this moment for years.

So I followed the faultlines
To where the sleepwalkers keep their salt
Where the broken breathe slowly
And the healed pretend they’re not.
If you’re lost, you won’t know it;
If you’re found, you won’t believe it.
The night doesn’t end —
It just gets thinner around the edges.

Some doors open inward,
Some open inward and keep opening inward
Until you lose count of how many versions of you
Walked through.
I left a note on one of those floors:
“Don’t wait. Nothing arrives.”
But I signed it with a name I haven’t grown into yet.

Follow the faultlines
They remember where you bled last winter.
Follow the sleepwalkers
They dream in colors the living forgot.
If the world calls your name,
Answer in a language you haven’t learned.
If the dark asks for a story,
Tell it the one you’re still writing.

And when morning finally happens
Try not to wake too quickly
You might spill the salt.