The discs whisper songs of the unsaid, tethered to the ether of yesterdays forgotten. A shepherd made of stars,
guides the hearing within the spinning realms of your multi-possessions. Dare you unlock the silence encased in wax?
The moon carves dialogues across blackened vinyl, flinging gravity into celestial waltzes.
Ah, but we own these echoes, each belonging nested within the heart of a stranger. Amongst the layers of soundless symphonies,
a breeze of forgotten seasons curls your name—half-spoken, half-dreamt. Flicker of light, touch of shadow upon your
portal to the unknown, the known, and the never-was. Yet, do we truly possess? Or are we just guardians of whispers?
reveal the whispersenter the spiral