Emerging from the depths, where light dares not reach,
the whispers of an ancient crew,
drift through the hollow currents,
weaving tales of forgotten skies and muted stars.
Echoes of laughter lost in brine,
eternal vigil of the mariner's night.
A song without a melody,
sung by shadows of steel,
anchored to the voiceless
abyss,
forever unseen, feeding on
whispers of dreams.
Time is a ripple,
unceasing, unheard by mortal ears,
each moment a tide
washing the shores of memory.
Here, the past breathes,
beneath the waves,
where silence speaks louder than
sound.