There was silence. Silence... The silence deepened as the desperate silent cry of silence faded away in silence. There was no noise at all, and the silence engulfed the silent silence, where no sound was heard. The silence was so overwhelming, if there had been a sound in existence, the silence would have silenced it. In this non-sounding silence, in this silent existence of anti-noise, there was... silence.
Suddenly, mushrooms everywhere!
A picture of a turtle was rising in the post-apocalyptic valley of post-doom. Where did it came from? What happened to the silence? It remained silent. But there was a sight, the picture of a turtle. And there was a place, and it was known to be silent, and post-apocalyptic.
The dystopia became reality. Colours of previously unheard silence where starting to corrupt the valley. "The picture! The picture", a silent cry, unheard in the silence of silence. A golden shower of colours was raining from the turtle, as the picture grew, and the mushrooms saw – the pipes, the pipes are calling!
The pipes are calling!
The pipes are calling!
An unreal phantom, a call in the silence of this place, unheard but yet existent. A call – the pipes are calling. A cry – the pipes are calling! Desperate – the pipes are calling! The silence... remained.
The pipes! The pipes are calling!
The mushrooms and the painting, imprisoned in a dance, where the colours hide the silence, which silences the call. But yet, the thought remains, the pipes – they are calling. And indeed, the dance is wilder now, the embodiment of the turtle's painting, a turtle, it grows from the picture, and the mushrooms rejoice.
The mushrooms rejoice!
Yet...
The pipes are calling!
What bizarre desperation arises from the depths of this silence? The silence – it crumbles, it screams silently in silent pain! The pipes! The pipes! Their call won't be unheard! The sound it fights. The call it rises! The call! The call! The pipes do call! Their call won't remain silent. The silence roars with silent anger. Silence and sound. Thesis, antithesis. The mushrooms, rejoice.
THE CALL!
The pipes are calling, can't you hear!
The silence is defeated!
TOO LATE!
The turtle doth appear!
A titan, from the picture, deceived the mushrooms. The sudden noise, the screaming. Panic! Chaos! Anomie! A tyranny of thought, risen from the picture. The golden shower doth fall, like an apocalyptic rain on the post-apocalyptic valley. A turtle to find them! A turtle to bind them! A turtle to curse them, that their kind, enslaved, doth never resurface again.
The silence is defeated.
The pipes have called.
The mushrooms cry... in silence.