"Round and round," they say, "the lights never stop." Much like your grandmother’s advice. Much like your morning coffee—never-ending, probably over-brewed. The red hue? It's a statement, they say. Deep red shadow speaks volumes, or perhaps just whispers like a shy child. Or like a politician.
Ironically, these spiraling lights promise to lead the way. But where? Isn't it always the same destination? Obsession with rotation, cyclical madness. The red lights flash, blink, twist, a cosmic dance for the void.
Did we mention the shadows? No? Ah, the shadows are essential. The silent partners in this visual symphony. They absorb light, but always leave a trace, a reminder of what’s lost in the brilliance of endless looping reds.