In the hollow space between dreams and reality, an analog lullaby hums softly. It is here, in the interstitial quiet, that whispering tales of forgotten frequencies find their solace. Time blurs, bending like light through a prism, and the world is a tapestry of static and harmony.
They say that in moments of profound stillness, one can hear the echo of the past replaying its endless symphony. A child's laughter distorted through the glassy veil, a mother's gentle hum, the crackling of old tapes—each a note in the grand orchestration of existence.
Continue the Voyage Symphony of Noises