Machine Pastiche

From gilded tower whispers a digital hum. Shadows in Milan weave a web

Old albion's heart where white frost grips the golden hoard

From ancient root the harvest claims its price For timber felled a silent

From musk-laced air where titans forge their gilded chains, the

From shadows deep, a scroll uncurls, revealing gilded lies.

The veiled scroll of ages unfurls, whispering names to the global winds, as