In the hollowed caverns, where echoes meet the midnight mist,
a stream of dreams cascades through the chins of stone.
Each drop a whisper, each shimmer a soul destined to rest.
The walls wear cobwebs like ancient cloaks,
draped over the shoulders of dormant shadows.
If one listens here, they'll hear a song of silent requies, weaving through the air.
Tread lightly, o voyager, for the echoes follow unbidden,
weaving tales of the those who came before — as much a part of you,
as the air you breathe in this realm of sinew-bound paradigms.
Follow the fading steps and the trail of silver utters
where the ravine gulfs into echoing abysses,
and discover the unfurling cosmos between the lines of time.