Deep within the bowels of the foundry
The great living engine sleeps
Skin a crust of black coal
Innards glowing magma
Its senses alien but keen
It does not see, hear, smell, taste, feel us
But it knows us nonetheless
And it shrieks silent hate to the world above
And we all know deep down
Someday it will come for us
Wednesday, April 21, 2021
It Slumbers Not
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