In this whispered realm where time forgets itself,
a face—half crumbled stone, half dreaming soul—
rests within a spiral of ancient keys,
each one a note from a forgotten song
played between worlds.

Mountains rise like thoughts unfinished,
floating pyramids hover above seas of memory,
and cities bloom from strands of hair
as if sculpted by the wind.

A woman waits at the threshold of a maze,
ships drift through the veins of a sleeping god,
and below, half-born bodies stretch and reach
from foundations that shift like breath.

The silence here is textured,
a slow unraveling of what was known—
a dream not to be solved, but felt,
piece by piece,
as if assembling yourself again
in the folds of myth and music.