Hushed thoughts drift like cosmic dust,
woven between the invisible threads of time.
Here, the stars are not lights,
but shadows of sound
stitched into the fabric of the silent sea...

A whisper, a longing,
a song in a language forgotten,
remembers in the spaces where light dares not tread.
They sing of petrichor and iron,
of memories not forged,
but birthed in the cold breath of the abyss.