In the grand tapestry of absurdities, where the clocks refuse to tick in the order of reality, we hear an echo.
Time chuckles, its face masked with intricate layers of chronology. Whispers encrypted in jest, they spill:
"To untangle is to struggle; to understand is to embrace the folly."
Gaze upon the continuum, a realm where moments are both heroes and villains in a play without audience.
Between the lines lies truth, wrapped in the robes of irony:
"Turn your clocks, dear wanderer, and find solace in their stubbornness."