The secret whispers of the void,
voices carried on the breath of night.
Wrapped in twilight's gentle armoured lore,
those who seek shall see taste and feel fate.
Upon the fringe dance whispers of inversion:
Data decrypted not, words not meant to be.
Moonlit surf crest broken; the numberless whispers speak clearly in their riddles,
Everything less is mere distance, held gently on cobalt sea of synth spectral trust.
The patterns, ah, they layer like fallen leaves,
Each formula a song sung only in silence.
Inner awakenings resonate soft echoes,
Leaking through cracks found with intrepid touch.