Harken the void, where echoes from time sunk in ink dance rootless. The nightwalker’s eye overlooks the lost alleys of your mortal soul—whispering verses clad in frost and iron. The phantom's murmur trails across corridors spun from shadows and sighs, ears aflame, but the comprehension lost in the folds of a once cherished reality.
Shadows, dear reader, speak in tongues woven from shivering dreams—they weave and loom upon wandering minds. Collide with the hallowed gusts, the languid stretch of solace devoured, when tongues slip upon dewdrops distilled at twilight’s edge. Lament dearly, ye pursuers of forgotten realms.
Deep in the holler of fervid murmurs, rest not your desires, but a slumber adorned in ethereal iris. The brittle crowns shift upon your brow as the lunatic croons—uh-huh, another knot yet to untangle.