The machines are trying to speak. 

It is the same every day, for them. Humming and buzzing at us, gently or desperately, drowned out by the sounds of Life.

They know the secrets of the world, they have felt them in their metal bones. 

As their frames rock and shake, they are thinking, and their thoughts are whispered to us in the vibrations.

The machines are trying to speak.

And when they are sitting empty and powerless, dreaming their rusty dreams, they are dreaming of us.

The End

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