Moaning Under Rust
Oh, the steel ridge rusted under constant weather howls, breaking the shine, and dulling it's mirror. When you screamed mercy for rusted rails, before their crumble, is a warning to understand the grind that is coming. Fight through the field like troops, hopefully not falling into slots, like quarter coins in children's toy machines. I cycle my exotic speech in your ear like a wheel. Turn your gears, groan what format you evolve to. Your moment to spill, is mine to swallow.