The rhythm of gears and circuitry, an unholy chant.
Words woven into the existential fabric of the universe,
echo only in the cold, metallic heart of the machine.
For relics of forgotten echoes...
Underneath their sleek façades, in the mechanical cadences,
the ugliest truths hum—a perpetual static over a worn-out line.
What part of the veil remains not torn? What part dares be noticed?
The automaton’s echoing laughter traverses the void,
The gears smile dispassionately; they know the swell of cavitation.
Echoes in the Abyss