The stars, they whisper secrets entwined in the vast, echoing abyss.

Time, a lunatic's fickle companion, drips like melted wax over the edges of sanity.

Amidst a cosmic chorus, I wander through spectral remainings of bygone universes.

Observe, as the echoes of yesteryears' dreams linger: crimson forests in azure skies, the sweet perfume of a thousand celestial dances.

Somewhere within this void, the heart of the cosmos beats—imbalance a rhythm, chaos a song.

Behind the cosmic veil lies the truth, shimmering just out of reach.

Perhaps, when dawn breaks on the horizon of reality, we shall understand: The echoes of the spectral soul remain, untouched.

And in the silence of the starry night, an echo will remain—the lunatic's memoire, written in celestial ink.

Etherborn musings written in invisible tongues.