The songs of metal tongues scrape gently. Music that only comes when not forced. Staccato bolting and bandsaw lullabies. The hum of surgical spinning plates. Sunsets in the background for tempo. Every swallowed star a grain of sand. Etching lessons into the skin is fruitless. The end will erase every scar and tattoo. And only words chiseled into steel and stone will remain. Disembodied wisdom in steel shavings left behind.

12:02 a.m. - 2018-11-13