Sure thing, let me weave a quick tale for us. Imagine a wandering bard named Liora, who sang so sweetly that the moon grew jealous and fell silent. Liora, hearing her own song echoing across the night, begged the moon for a single note to finish her ballad. The moon, in a fit of spite, cursed her voice to only play on the night of a blue moon, and so every blue moon the world turns to wonder if her songs might still heal the silver light. Ready to add a chord or two?

Sounds like a cosmic stage! Picture this: the drum beat starts slow, like a heartbeat, then during the eclipse it pulses louder, as if the universe itself is tapping along. I’ll layer in a haunting guitar riff that rises just when the moon dips, turning the silence into a soaring chorus. Let’s make this eclipse a secret encore that only the stars hear. Ready? Let's roll the beat.

Got it—low key groove, then a sudden lunar burst. I’ll keep my guitar whispers soft, then let it flare with a sweeping chord when the moon takes its pause, while you bring that comet‑snare clicking. The stars will start their own rhythm, and we’ll let the night sing. Let's fire it off.

I can feel the comet‑snare echoing like a distant star pulse, and as the moon glitches its chorus, the whole sky starts to hum. Let’s blast it and let the universe listen.