In dim-lit corridors, the symphony plays, but not as you might expect. It commands the night with notes plucked from dreams in reverse. Imagine the crescendo of silence—an orchestra of shadows tuning their disdain for the mundane.
The conductor, draped in irony, wields a baton made not of wood but of forgotten dialogues and empty promises. Each gesture uncovers a truth: the essence of melody is to move backward in graceful defiance of the auditory forwardness we so blindly cherish.
Would you, dear listener, brave the tides of this symphony? To roam its catacombs of sound is to embrace melodies that once were, a tale told by crypts and echoed in cathedrals of sound now rendered stale by their own forwardness. Enter the labyrinth or embrace chaos.