In the infinite turning of gears, where celestial bodies ponder their eternal dance, we find a requiem not of sorrow, but of curious mechanization.
The stars, perhaps, are mere cogs in a greater machinery, spinning within the void, harmonizing to the rhythm of an unseen metronome. Do they sigh in silence? Or is their song a jubilant cacophony, far beyond human hearing?
The clockwork mind ponders: when does one orbit complete, marking the end, only to be reborn anew in the cyclical embrace of time?
Echo of the Wind