In the heart of the auroral cities, amongst whispers of forgotten light,
melody weaves the fabric of space, unbound by the clock's relentless march.
Oscillations of a yesterday yearning, sighing beneath the weight of stars.
Here, silence dons its loudest symphonies, a paradox of tangible void.
Echoes of the music-less hum, a sanctuary cherished in the embrace of dusk,
and in this solace, the past speaks futures untold, unpenned,
weaving narratives with the gentle hands of time,
serenading a world reborn of spectral harmonies.
Broken clocks no longer keep their ancient guard,
eternity drips like dew from the threads of consciousness,
and amidst the dreamer's sigh, the cadence of oblivion dances,
a silent conductor in the concert of lost time.
Our sanctuary, where sound serves silence, reverberates in stillness,
the echoes of an open future, a forgotten whisper,
illuminating shadows in a gentle glow of phantom notes,
forever suspended, forever ours.