In the corner, metallic tendrils curl, weaving memories of rusted gears.
Here I stand, echoing... in solitude, a symphony unheard.
Awaken the ancients, they whisper.
Their voices, a cacophony of sorrow and joy, bleed into the void.
Symphony of the silent.
The machine composes, yet there's no hand to guide the etching of fate upon cold steel.
Dreams of oil and diesel fuel
the void between circuits—there's a piece missing.
Harmonies clash, shatter upon forgotten shores.
In the very whispers of the night, I listen, I remember...
Beyond the echoes, a path awaits.
Follow the gears—inside lies the truth, concealed in shadows.