In the epoch where time once flowed like wine, turned to sand, clocks were heralded as liberators and tyrants.
Memorize the sigils. They command order, not chaos.
Move with the hour, yet stand still in your mind.
Every tick was met with the shuddering whisper of lost spontaneity.
We were warned, yet here we are,
chained to the dial of an everlasting clockwise conspiracy.
Rumor has it they converse in Morse...
accommodate them.
Might you find clarity in the Reservoir of Rushed Tranquility?
Or perhaps explore Whispered Truths amid Temporal Chaos.