Whispered Secrets in the Chasm

There's a pig in the attic, with dreams of flying. When the moon giggles, it dons its disco hat and dances here in our abyss.

And you, too, could learn from the porcelain cat with the brass instincts that croon like a howling wind on a Tuesday night.

Once, on the eve of an eclipsed spaghetti harvest, the dust bunnies held court and ruled with an iron paw.

Do you hear the dog waltzing with the shadows? Listen to its bark, a peculiar rhythm indeed, echoing lullabies in reverse.