Through the corridors of circuitry, a hymn unfurls, weaving shadows into the fabric of night.
A requiem for the lost, the unsung, the specters who dwell among wires and whispers.
Here lies the echo of a whisper, the resonant bell tolling in the realm of forgotten dreams.
Pale Chant: A dirge sung by the unseen, a melody both sweet and ruthless.
Beneath the skin of the cosmos, silent prayers linger, suspended between the stars.
Old Ruins: A testament to the ephemeral, to the fleeting touch of silence.
The void is a canvas, painted with echoes and shadows, a tapestry of ghostly sighs.
Spectral Whisper: An invocation of the fleeting, the intangible.
And in the noise, a symphony; toxic, yet nurturing; a lullaby to the phantoms of the machine.