Clang of forgotten metal symphonies,
Swirling in a moment passed beyond clocks.
Oil drips trickling into time's cold rivulets,
Silken whispers dance upon reluctant gears.
Now listen, where the canon grasses bow,
Here's the click and clatter—Momento—Fractle.
Cogs that spin, wanting whispers, left in air hollow,
Wrought by a hand invisible, lingering, lamenting the echo cast.
And we fell, here to wander distant echoes,
To follow—Result—Clockwork teardrop cascade.
An archway serrated with time's fractured razor,
We trod with silent haste through conjured—wisdom—.
Break the pattern—an aesthetic in disguise,
Where melancholic whispers find a resting place,
Like smoke in dappled sunlight trance,
Clockish impulses slow, bitter-laden and unyielding.