In the drone of silence,
patterns weave whispers.
Echoes call echoes, call echoes.
The night hums with forgotten songs,
awash in the pulse of aeons.

Should I step into the spiral,
where noise cradles the infinite,
and walls sleep with their dreams?

Waves of repetition embrace,
each note aligned with destiny,
shaping tides beneath skin,
awakening the sleepwalker.

Voices in the patterns speak,
yet in silence, they understand.
Patterns of noise embrace,
patterns of chaos unwind.