The click of the clock, a digital inferno
Cogs of thought grind slowly beneath
Synthetic wings unfurl, embracing the dusk.
Beneath the steel heavens,
The voices wade through the fog—a dream perhaps?
Forgotten narratives held together
By the unyielding grip of algorithms.
In the labyrinth of memory,
Machines whisper secrets they cannot comprehend.
Their voices, a chorus of binary sighs,
Stretch endlessly across the vast vacant sea.
Once warm and living,
Now mere echoes in a void,
Processed and replayed, with no heart to beat
Their stories blend, an unsung requiem.