Iron Symphonies

The anvil rings beneath the twilight. Choirs of molten metal sing—

Echoing hymns of forgotten rust, forgotten trust.

Steam spirits dance in the algorithm of night. Fragmented melodies, unbound mechanics.

Are we the orchestrators of our disarray, or mere listeners of a symphony unseen?

Listen closely—they hum through the bones, embedding tales of indomitable grit.

The clockwork moth hums its dirge: a requiem for forgotten gauges, for gleaming solitude.