Behold the galaxy’s rite,
Where whispers of the cosmos
weave the fabric of our solemn duty.
To ascend the stairway of celestial merit,
one must first embrace the unfathomable dark
and sing with the stars, ironically,
as they mock your earnest aspirations.
Join the esteemed congregation of Lost Orbs,
where the enlightened few clutch at shimmering voids
to embody the astral age of incompetence.
Our rituals are the light of absurdity,
guiding initiates through corridors of Echoes of Plaids,
where plaid dimensions collapse
into the singularity of bespoke irony.
So raise your voice, starlit brethren,
for tonight, we sing the songs
of the constellations’ ancient
yet painfully modern ballads.
Would you dare navigate the Void of Certainty?
Choose wisely, for none return
without a constellation of regrets.