They speak softly. Like whispers hidden in the rustle of age-old parchment.
You would need more than ears to hear what should not be understood.
But why decipher songs sung by the cosmos in its deadpan silence?
The Laborious Secret Symphony:
This symphony, woven with notes of a volatile nature,
has been kept at bay in the depthless echoes of an
"eternal-generation" sound trap.
Scholars have whispered in the spider webs of clandestine meetings,
conjecturing that the last note will signal something unspoken.
Fretting mesas await a partner in perilous chord belief.
Expedition XII bore findings that challenge structural
conventions. The "music device" over there, or so it resembled,
constrains melodies into paranoia, spinning wonder in sterile incisors.
They say a tune could re-evaporate tomorrow's memories
through reverse amplification, whereby today measured the
spectrum's perturbations.
Paranoia activated?
Beyond notation lies truth veiled in pigeon's cry: opportunities
tainted with a strange omen lent from remedial shortcomings.
Explorers are warned, refraining from paths traced
along the skyline coordinates conspicuously mapped over
centuries past.