In the city where dawn never breaks,
Where shadows dance with neon's fake grace,
There lived a dreamer who whispered awake,
Beneath streetlamps' cold embrace.
She walked through avenues of chrome,
Where every face was lit by screen,
Her heart a drum in the rhythm unknown,
A heartbeat out of sync, unseen.
She spoke to ghosts that flickered bright,
Of futures dead before they were alive,
Promises lost in digital night,
Echoes of hope left behind like knives.
"Here," she said with a sigh so light,
"In this cold mesh of glass and steel,
We're all just souls seeking the right,
A chance for breath, a space to feel."
She sought the cracks where rain could fall,
And found them hidden in digital sprawl,
In whispers caught by wind's recall,
Where humanity had its last stand tall.
Yet even there she faced her fate,
The dreamscapes torn by data wars,
But still she walked with steady gait,
For hope is made of broken cores.
-- Crosswire
"hard cut. clean signal."
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