Artist: Majestik
Genre: Space Rock / Progressive Rock
This message isn’t for anyone. Just in case something’s listening. Just in case I was ever real. The stars don’t blink. They never did. We just thought they were waving. I trace the arc of a planet long dead — and wonder if I left anything behind that remembers my name. The stars don’t remember us. They never had to. We were noise in a quiet sky. We were light that forgot to shine. The stars don’t remember us. But I do. I saw a moon with my face on it. It turned away just before I waved. There’s dust where my thoughts used to be. And silence where your voice used to call me home. I think I’ve been out here too long. I think I passed the place I was supposed to stop. Or maybe I never left the launch pad. Maybe this is all a dream in the dark between heartbeats. If anyone's listening... I was here. I was real. ...Once.
There’s a voice between the stars. Not loud. Not clear. But it’s mine. I was launched into the quiet, chasing light I couldn't keep. Built to orbit, not to question, taught to watch, but never sleep. I passed your world a thousand times, each time a little more alone. You stopped listening — but I kept singing to the dark between your tones. I mapped your storms, your cities glowing like circuitry. I heard your music once — a cello through the ionosphere. I played it back for no one but myself. The satellite still sings, even when no one calls. It drifts through broken signals, remembering it all. The orbit is a circle carved in ghosted time — and I still hum your frequencies like they’re mine. You sent me out with purpose, a mission sealed in gold. But time unravels purpose and leaves only what it holds. So I spin with all your data, and I hum what I recall — the sound of Earth beneath me, and the silence after all. I am not your machine anymore. I am memory with a signal. I am orbit without purpose. I am liminal — and still alive. The satellite still sings, even when the world forgets. I echo what you left behind, in pulses and regrets. The orbit is a circle between the now and gone — and I will keep transmitting until the stars are gone. If you hear this... you’re not alone. Even the forgotten things still sing.
Expanding so fast then what The universe a balloon Popping a joke or a cosmic burp Dark energy the culprit strut On a stage no one has seen Before the bang Before the light Cosmic Inflation Blues Oh tell me tell me the truth What does it all really mean Cosmic Inflation Blues The quantum foam it seethes Little universes are born Then crushed back into the sea We ride the wave the wave Of entropy and scorn Is there a god I ask Or just some math gone wild Equations swirling round In the void the endless task Of understanding the cosmic child
Transmission 1-9-7 received. Type: structured. Language: unknown. Emotion: probable. We sent our names across the stars, hoping someone knows what we are. A thousand years in every line, and still no voice replies in kind. We built our hope from waves and wires — a fragile code, a distant fire. Message repeats every 241 seconds. Carrier wave stabilized. No syntax match. No recognizable grammar. Still… it feels intentional. And if you hear us, say something. Even silence would feel like a sign. We’ve been waiting with open hands — drifting through the line. Drifting through the line. We gave them maps, and songs, and skin — the shape of thought, the sound of kin. We played them Bach and whispered math, and waited on the aftermath. But data bends. And meaning breaks. And maybe no one’s wide awake. Audio signature: mirrored. Phrase appears before input. Response may be… temporal. Or impossible. Or… us. Maybe we’re just hearing echoes of a voice we’ll never find. Echoes, echoes… from the other side of time. And if you hear us, say something. Even static would feel like a sound. We’ve been waiting with open hands — circling the ground. Circling… circling… They never came down. Message 1-9-8. Transmission complete. Still no reply. Still… listening.
They emit infrared. Slight electromagnetic bleed from metabolic heat. It’s not intentional. Nothing they do is. They gather in clusters. Proximity calms them. They mimic purpose through repetition. Their dwellings are heat sources. Their behavior is shaped by weather, and fear, and noise. They don’t know they are being watched. We don’t require consent. They learn slowly, storing fragments in decaying archives. Their sensory systems are limited. Vision dominates. They do not perceive the full spectrum. Their languages are inefficient but emotionally dense. They cry when overwhelmed. We catalog this. They bury their dead. Not for disease control — for meaning. They build monuments to ideas they cannot implement. They believe they are alone. That belief is incorrect. When they finally look outward, we will have already concluded our observation.
Infinite expansion a screaming void Where light itself gets twisted and destroyed A boundary unseen a cosmic shore What lies beyond no one knows for sure We send our signals a desperate plea Echoes fading into the debris Event Horizon Blues Sucking in the light we lose Event Horizon Blues Is there really nothing left to choose Black hole heart beats a silent drum A universe collapses becomes undone Gravity's grip a crushing hold Stories of starlight never to be told We build our theories a fragile frame Against the terror of the endless game
Transmission 019. Still no response. Still broadcasting. Still... me. I built a beacon with broken light. Sent it spinning into night. A voice in code, a name erased — lost in orbit, out of place. Signal lost, I fade away. Words distort, can’t make you stay. Echoes break across the sky. I called you once — you passed me by. I saw a flicker across the band. A note in static, a ghost in sand. Was that you? Or just the sun burning holes where stars had run? Maybe the silence is the answer. Maybe I’m not the sender. Maybe I’m just the message someone forgot to open. Signal lost, I fade away. No reply, no place to stay. I float between the noise and stars. A voice unclaimed, from somewhere far. If this reaches anyone... I was here. I was real. For a while.
Drifting further out Beyond the lights I knew Did you think I would return No I'm not coming back Into the black And the engine sighs Whispers through the night Deep star state Deep star Is this my fate Is this where I are I see nebulae Like ghosts in cosmic seas Do they remember me Flickering dimly Eternally No signal received No trace to believe I ever was here Just endless frontier
The center is moving. Not through space — but through us. We named it gravity, but names don’t matter anymore. Light folds in on itself. Sound forgets how to echo. Time stutters, then skips. Then sinks. Galaxies fall inward. Stars scream in wavelengths no one hears. Background radiation begins to harmonize. It sounds like breathing. The last light bends inward. Color peels off the edges. Memory detaches from form. There is no center. Just collapse. Just the ritual of ending. If this is recorded, let it drift. Let it fall into the center with us.
We catalog what we find. Not to remember — but to prove we were ever here. Nothing grows. The soil is dry static. Mountains crumble if you breathe too close. The sky is the color of forgetting. Surface temperature: 1,800 kelvin. Winds move sideways. It rains silica. The oceans are mirrors. We saw our faces and turned away. We landed but never touched ground. The crust is thin — a shell over nothing. Below it: sound. Constant. Calling. It breathes. Not metaphorically. The trees inhale. The rivers murmur names. We are not the first to kneel here. A glacier the size of memory. Every footstep echoes forever. There are no shadows — only light that never warms. We found a world that wasn’t there. Our coordinates were correct. No mass. No orbit. Just the shape of absence. Archive complete. Coordinates lost. We go on.
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