Do you hear the yawn of eternity? The stars drip molten silver upon forgotten shores, and in their wake, the hymns of yesterday flail and whisper.

The trees, with branches outstretched, clutch at the empty air as if grasping the ghostly echoes.
"Once, we were symphonies," they lament, "now merely a cacophony of silence."

A specter wanders through the fog of dreams, its words a melancholic serenade:
"Do we hum because we live, or live only to hum in a songless void?"