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From the Microcosmicon, 8:

The psychonauts’s capsule plunged into the collective psychic pool. The mysterious song no one had been able to identify slithered between their minds like the wind, guiding them away from the surface.

Lyrics evaporated one word into the other, notes became colors and colors became suns, and queen bees nested in them.

There it was, lodged between a memory and a desire for more, the cosmic song whose origin they’d been commissioned to investigate. They managed to unstick it.

Excited, they made for the surface. But they’d strayed too far. The mystery they’d entered was dissolving, fog-like, sweeping them along.

MQS