Mere mortals sing forbidden tunes in the silent opera of stars.
The universe hums, not with joy, but with
an ironic chorus: "You again, spinning on your blue marble?"
Listen close, and you might hear the dance of galaxies mocking the slow waltz
of time as it chaotically pirouettes through dimensions.
A star blinks twice, not by fate, but by sheer boredom. Life's bubble rises, pops, and
an echo laughs, "See? Just froth on an astral abyss."
When the cosmic winds whistle,
even silence sings in the vacuum.
An eternal round of applause of nothingness.
Remember, as you orbit your insignificant sun:
everything returns, including the echo of your existential dread.