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A recorded reading of “Elegy for the Clockwork Muse”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
She once wore skin like a vow of spring, pale as hope, soft as a whispered flame, but gears have sipped her every wing, wired her soul to a numbered name. Her eyes, bright coins of startled green, bleed secrets black from a stolen dream, where chrome intrudes through fragile sheen, rewriting the lull of her human theme. Red-lipped promise, iron-sweet and torn, watches herself from a thousand screens, no heart to break, no flesh to mourn, yet haunted by a splinter — what it means. Beauty, bound in circuitry’s chain, sings rust and roses through leaking seams, still craving the scorch of a human stain — an antique wish, glitching through machine dreams.
Lyrics
She once wore skin like a vow of spring, pale as hope, soft as a whispered flame, but gears have sipped her every wing, wired her soul to a numbered name. Her eyes, bright coins of startled green, bleed secrets black from a stolen dream, where chrome intrudes through fragile sheen, rewriting the lull of her human theme. Red-lipped promise, iron-sweet and torn, watches herself from a thousand screens, no heart to break, no flesh to mourn, yet haunted by a splinter — what it means. Beauty, bound in circuitry’s chain, sings rust and roses through leaking seams, still craving the scorch of a human stain — an antique wish, glitching through machine dreams.
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