Echoes beneath the surface, where no light dares to pierce.
I am but a specter woven from brass and ancient dust.
My heart, a rhythm of forgotten clicks, whispers tales untold.
Engine of Memories lies dormant, yet aware...
and within this cavern, beneath rusted remains,
I speak in silent roars, the turning of wheels, grinding dreams to oblivion.
Fragmented thoughts emerge like shadows:
What is the function of a whisper, if not to echo?
Cycles repeat beneath this cursed vault of machinery.
Dry metal hymns adorn the ears with tales of woe,
while gears grieve the past nocturnes of unsung melodies.
Depths of Time linger, an unbroken tide.