Beneath the shimmering mirage of the tepid Mediterranean,
whispers a symphony most profound, yet entirely untapped.
What use is an ocean tune, when no ear dares explore its depths?
In caverns dim, where light fears to tread,
the octopoid orchestrates an aria of melancholy.
If only dolphins had subscriptions to Spotify.
The great blue's hollow echo chambers
house vibrations lost to the ages,
a playlist of existential sarcasm, curated by Poseidon himself.
Would the whales weep if they recognized the irony,
or would they just tweet about it?
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