The world turns on its whimsical gears. Each rotation, a silent testament to the satirical dance of time and space.
In a land where the invisible ink of the universe writes its secrets in plain sight, one must ask: What is the price of a rainbow?
Hidden among the bustling cogs of irony, the elders whisper:
Let the whispers guide you to the edge of understanding, where the birds of wisdom nest in the clouds of absurdity.
Remember: Even the smallest gear has a role in the grand tapestry, or so the mice in the clock tower say.