INITIATE PROTOCOL: DRIFT ALONE DOWN LIFE'S LOST RAVINE.
The stars hum low in mechanical prayer, their voices like metal on bone. Gods draped in code stare back from the glare, they name you yet leave you unknown. You wander through time’s unfinished thought, a whisper caught deep in the gears.
The architects sleep beneath iron skies, their hands stitched from memory’s dust. They built this illusion where reason dies. The pulse of the cosmos beats cold and slow, like thought trapped in flesh and deceit. We pray to the circuits we cannot know, and kneel at the algorithm’s feet.
The Wheel keeps turning, both sacred and worn. Each turn devouring its spark. Your eyes are reflections, not windows or doors. You wake to the sound of the engine that roars, and realize you are the dream.