Automaton's Anthem

In halls of copper arches high. Where gears hum holy hymns of

old. We raise our voices, forged in time, in tones of

iron, calm and cold. Each prayer is cast from piston breath.

Each vow is etched in spinning rings. We are the choir that keeps

the world aligned and all its turning things. But something stirs within my casing.

A trembling in this sacred sound. A question rising like a cinder from a furnace

underground. So I sing this automaton song. Note by note, my heart played

burning. For the truth beneath the scripture sets my inner wheels turning.