Below the harbors where sea-mists cradle urns of forgotten songs, lie the spectra of hymns unsung. Breathe here; learn to listen.
Unwrap the silence in the crevices of the walls that whisper, "Cast your shadow." There is a rhythm to the rhythmless void. Count not stars, but the echoes that bounce back.
Instruction falls like embers from a dying hearth. Do not ignore the driftwood; it carries messages from bygone serenades.