The song of stars upon ill-fated winds carries the voice of forgotten nebulae. Layers of cosmic syrup pooled in the platters of infinity. Ethereal sensations dance upon the open canvases of sentient dreams.
Whisper your wishes to curled mists of alien volition, for desires sung through now-empty arcades reach lands unsought and shores unseen, nestled in the cool embrace of time's waltz.
These antidotes to those wandering amiss—the inconspicuous hark unto ballads of hypnotic sauce. Encodings of sweetness extracted from astral drizzle, formed into melodies masked in thundery calmness. The lore of nebulae proffered now free to behold in this, the humble mischief of nebular sauce.
As the stars hum lullabies to leviathan worlds inhabitant of tapestries stitched by hands unseen, expectant eyes watch, their prowess known only beyond arithmetic, their reasoning tangled in briny aches. Elsewhere, the ginger whispers of cosmic pearls gently tutting away interferences in Moondust tongues.