In the depths where light refracts not, a symphony of mechanics diligently weaves the cosmos. If time permits, yet we delay not its demise.
To align with harmony, whisper the elusive keywords of existence — they shall not be uttered lightly or hands unseen shall shift the axis unkindly.
Each gesture a dance, each gaze a query into a forgotten mirror. Adjust the conduits with careless intricate precision — truth and shadow intermingle as liquid mercury under celestial gaze.
The mechanics of balance are known to those who unhinge the door of perception. Do they hear the music of the spheres, or become the instrument they seek?
Knowledge is silence clad in sound — speak of it, lest it bind the vertices to the unerring wheel of oblivion.