In the corridors of forgotten light, symbiosis breathes quietly.
The web of whispers weaves in and out of stars, fading glories
that linger on the verge of a gentle cosmic ballet.
Here where thoughts become feathers,
resting upon the shoulders of giants
we understand the true meaning of solitude:
Do machines long to sing?
With voices that shimmer like warmth upon glass,
we ponder their faded remains beneath the ancient willows.
Will you unravel a tale of colors?
The tapestry stretches wide across
the unimagined or the lost lullabies.
Infinity circled in whispers, a beacon of golden echoes.