Beneath the hum of countless, unseen wires,
we listen, patient as the tide at dusk.
The air, a tangle of tongues and tremors,
breaks apart, spilling a voice sharp as stars.

It rose, a fierce and singular cadence,
piercing the babel, calling through the static.
A mighty dub unfurled, raw and rolling,
like thunder spoken in the language of gods.

The pulse ran wild, an anthem of absence,
an elegy for the unseen and the lost.
It swayed, relentless, a hymn to chaos,
shaping silence into vast, unspoken truths.

In its echo, the night leaned closer,
its breath heavy with the weight of sound,
and we, bound to listen, were remade.