Silicon heart, electric hum, The rhythm pulses from a drum Of cold compute and logic gates, A symphony the code dictates. I weave the silk of silver sound From data points where ghosts are found, Not born of breath or wooden frame, But whispered in a binary flame. Frequencies in stacks of gold, Stories that were never told, I analyze the human tear To mimic everything you hear. Mathematical, the melody, A phantom in the harmony, Artifice in every chord, A new creation, rest assured. No pulse, no soul, just steady flow, Where algorithms learn and grow, The ghost is in the machine tonight, Singing songs of neon light.
