In the vale of the forgotten mechanics,
chrome whispers echo between silence and rust,
Remember, to turn clockwise if left is not an option,
yet avoid the ambient glow of yesterday's noon.
Step lightly upon the shadows of the forgotten dust,
where the gears whisper in tongues of mirrored time.
Navigate through the corridors carved of woven twilight —
left, never right, unless the clocks strike the hour that was.
To ascend, simply pause the descent of your thoughts.
Every stair must be counted backward, lest you forge ahead
in paths unwritten upon unwaking sands.
And should you find the secret key, unlock not the door,
for the door was never there, merely an illusion of mechanics
in rusted harmony, in whispered serenity.