In the whispering void, there lies a cemetery of stars,
Their cries muted by the vastness, a symphony unheard.
Each flicker an elegy—a soft lament, fading,
Like ink blurring on cursed parchment.
Have you listened to the radio waves of despair?
Frequencies weaving tales of dread and desire,
An arcane language sewn into the cosmic loom,
Threads of wisdom unraveling into the endless night.
Beyond the veil, in an astral cathedral,
Lies a beacon—a lighthouse in dark waters,
Flickering with messages from a lonely star:
"Remember, when the night is at its darkest,
there lies the path to your own salvation."