In the whisper of inevitability, there lies an elegy for the unsaid:
When the last beacon dims, when frequency becomes pulse-less, remember:
To decipher silence, one must first inhale its absence, exhale the forgotten signal.
Sculpt your understanding with the chisel of the void; an artisan of oblivion.
Embrace the cosmos' erasure through meticulous observation.
In the skewed dance of stars, find the symmetry of dissolution.
When echoes cease their patient journey across the Martian flats, ponder:
For every abandoned lighthouse, there was a beacon, there was hope.
Prepare vessels of memory against the tide of time, for signal becomes elegy.