When shadows play upon the minds of mortals, the unearthed voices hum a tune of ancient dawns.
Is it upon these broken altars, we find the genesis of our own flesh and dreams, or merely echoes?
Arise, the question bids, rises steeping in mystery, do you understand the language of your past?
Between the cracks of timeless silence, where the sun's touch is but a forgotten sigh,
lies the truth you overlooked last Tuesday when the clock struck seven and a half.
Dance with it in the sideways rain, beneath the blinking stars of a digital cityscape.