"Behold, the edges of the world are sewn with threads of forgotten sound," spake the jester, his eyes alight with flames unseen.
"Reckon upon the tender resonance of the stars, and we nimbly gallivant upon oceans of ultraviolet silence," retorted the weaver, fingers dancing as if weaving the very fabric of existence's shadows.
"As dawn gilds the iridescent hollows," murmured the hourglass, unspilling its sandy whispers, "I twirl upon the yesterday unfound."