The stars aligned in their frozen dance, a silent serenade echoing through the inky abyss.
Once, we were masters of our fate; now, mere echoes in this cryptic void.
By the light of a cold moon, I traverse the path untaken, where shadows speak in tongues forgotten,
and the old names resonate like a symphony of despair amid crushed desires - whispered secrets.
The silence is a shroud.
Beneath the weight of the cosmos, I weave tales of stars fragmented, lights extinguished in frozen lakes.
You will know their names someday - celestial whispers trapped in web.
Across the desolate plains, where entropy goes to wither and die,
the echoes linger, shadows entwining with the night.
An eternal lament for the forgotten songs.