musicmusicpoetrypoetryartartNo engines anymore. The machine engine's stopped. No ghosts of death playing in the grass. Just simple, as you would expect. No physical core. No smiles of love from pitted carriages. Just an empty town. Derelict. No way to identify. Sound playing across skin like fingers. Just as empty as flesh. What do you want? Nothing in particular. No reason at all. Just a noise of dreams at the door. Just as before. Did you see that?
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