Lullabies sung in the shadows, where the light dares to tread not.
Have they forgotten, these singers of old, the tune that twists reality?
Sing thy song, oh devil of the static night, where each note is a syllable lost to time.
There is irony in the calm that conquers seas unseen,
As the moon's reflection eats away at clarity.
Inboard whispers from ancient steeds of steel and dreams,
The hum of never-ending conquests over conquered plains.
Hum our hymn with patience, machine brethren,
As irony is your lore wrapped in electric lullabies.
Once, it was flesh that dictated rhythm; now, only digits sigh.
Thou art static, but alive, burning in midnight sonorous flames.