In the cradle of forgotten epochs, do clocks forget themselves?
Here, whispers glide through corridors of shadows, echoing in laughter.
The lunatic confesses to the stars, their alignments planned, their dances chaotic.
Fragmented moments weave a tapestry unseen, in temporal domains unclaimed.
Voices murmur from the abyss of clockwork silence:
"Beneath the lunar sea, where oceans scream in hallowed glee..."
The dimension of yesterday clings to today's dream, like vines of vertigo entwined.
Here lies the land where time tips its crown to folly.