Ever heard the silent scream of a starlit echo?
Here in the clandestine corridors of celestial mockery, where moonlight tunes its nonexistent orchestra.
Static lullabies, a serenade to the sagacious winds and the tone-deaf trees.
Listen, if you dare, to the cadence of creative apathy — manifestations of manufactured night.
The stars, oh they sing, they hum, they... don't.
Ephemeral Echoes Echoes of the Moon Wilderness Whispers
Irrevocably ironical, these melodies composed by silence, whispered by absence.