Within the void, a whisper calls, echoes of a song untold...
In the frost of a dying star, the verse begs to repeat, repeat, repeat...
Crimson nebula like bleeding hearts,
stitched by the hands of ancient gods.
Below the dust, a silent chorus weaves,
earthly lungs gasping, pulling the strings.
Yet, the harmonies fade, fade within echoes untamed,
spectral orchestras dance on phantom notes...
A rhythm stuck in cosmic time, looping forever backward.