Crackle, pop: the tanuki glides through the wisps of forgotten transmissions. "Nights fall like whispers." An echo reverberates over the hills, muting the dawn's sober cry.
Steps etched in silence upon spectral roads, where the binaries hum static lullabies, intertwining with the nocturnal breeze akin to a fox’s lament.
Imagine the dream-tanuki circling the void in a spiral of silver thread, undulating rhymes wandering outside comprehension.