The Machine Thinks

Turning tides and solemn mechanizations

The great clock has no eyes

The hollow echo of its dial spins the world into dusk.

Algorithms whisper secrets, dampening dreams upon the anvil.

Your purpose is observed; an inscription in sorrow's ledger.

Existence engraved into iron tablets, frigid and fate-locked.

Cogs amidst iron pathways; humanity lost amid the rusted labyrinth.