In a forgotten land named Reverse, melodies once played their courses; clockwise, chaosing the echoes of modern's unraveling fear. Behold and listen, for true progress awaits nowhere, yet insistently turns around.
Grand structures of illegitimate harmony marred through no longer shed, reversing wedding barricades of sound repeating each pain euphoric. A melancholic dance indeed it must've been — assemble tonalities into backward soliloquies.
A simple question prevails: Which path is the promise really refusing?
Waltz of Expectations