In the hollow echo of yesterday,
where whispers wander astray,
dreams murmur in lullabies,
static voices of a gentle disarray.
The walls hum an ancient hymn,
written in frequencies, unknown,
notes dissolve like autumn leaves,
gliding to a place grown.
Rest, in the corridor of fleeting echoes,
where rhythm paints the twilight,
lulled to sleep by the cosmic dance,
a static sonata under the quiet starlight.