The gears gnaw through hollow bone,
Flesh burned to cinders, breath erased.
The sun is buried, mute, alone,
A corpse that stares from steel and waste.

The rivers choke in copper veins,
Their pulse confined to ghostly code.
The wind is crushed beneath the chains,
Its howls reduced to static, slow.

The past, a shattered thing, decays,
Its truth an echo in the ash.
An old man’s breath is smeared, erased,
His life dissolved in flickering flash.

And still, they sleep, with vacant eyes,
The mass unmarked by fire or stone.
The hour’s toll, a muted cry,
The final breath, a hollow drone.