In the velvet dusk of slumber, when silver whispers weave through
the tapestry of thoughts, dwell the echoes of unsung songs.
These are the cacophonies that cradle the soul, resonating with
the pulse of forgotten dreams.
Sing not the lyrics of the waking world, for they do not belong
to the chambers of sleep. Instead, listen to the trembling
harmonies that linger in the shadows, a symphony of
ethereal shades and wandering notes.
Here, the dream parasites dance, ephemeral creatures
adorned with the luminous glow of moonlit revelry.
Their song is a lullaby of stardust, caressing the fringes
of consciousness with tender despair.