They spoke not of machines, but shadows casting brief mirages upon sunless boulevards. In whispered tones, they unraveled kaleidoscopes of lost murmurs and further horizons.
The smoke over the city, shaped like forgotten pyramids, converses with the neon mist; a symphony of dormant echoes bridging the empyrean void.
Shall tomorrow be found beneath purple sands — promised futures rewritten as specters of yesterday? They remember the pontiff of borrowed dreams.