"Oh, the divine irony," whispers the dying ember, flickering like an ancient candle clinging to its last speck of wax. "To think that I, a star of considerable nuclear prowess, end my life with but a gentle fizz beneath molten seas."

"Here in the cryptic depths, where stars turn to memes and irony nests in the folds of existential chaos, my voice still echoes. A supernova of profound introspection, I am."

With every pulsating quark, he mumbles, "Do they truly think the cosmos unheard? This cosmic grandstand ready for the next sitcom episode? I used to summon light, but now, I drift as particles in a sardonically tidal orchestra."

"Ah, the mosaic of celestial drudgery; I sculpted it with my tormented barium, little knowing it would serve as a playpen for ironic dust, tickling the senses of future generations condescendingly awash in this stellar irony."