In the labyrinth of ticking conscience, the clockwork weaves tales of forgotten ember. Shadows dance in fragmentary synchrony, obscured by patina of time.
Visions, they whirl in gear-driven reveries—wings of brass echo against the silent void. Dreams set to motion in the pivot of planetary scale, memory entwined in cogs of silver and rust.
Perchance when the hour glimmers, the noise inside reveals the crystalline lattice of thoughts unbidden. Horizons beneath, swallowed whole by the clock's clandestine embrace.
The ancient whispers speak without tongues, hands reaching through the mists of antiquity as they trace the unfathomable perimeter of the mind's grand operetta.
Follow the hidden light or dare to reflect. Thus the gears compel.