In times future, music will not be played upon vibrations in the air.  Harp, flute, drum all cast aside, trill and tremolo burnt from the page, damped vibrations, dead equations.  Some songs are too vast for human hearing.  Discard your scores and libretti; let them fall from your hands the way generation ships fall away from Earth, carrying their harvest of souls in keys minor, keys major, modes sweet to the ear.  The oscillating pattern of fleets launched toward points half-known, planets orbiting stars we see time-veiled: this is the symphony we shout into the void.