In history, there was a time, when certain thoughts were heinous crimes. We now know the truth, that this is real, we're not the center, of the wheel

Settling on forgotten shelves, a silent dance in sunlight, born of decay yet a testament to time's breath.

A slender thread of metallic grace, Connecting here and there with a trace, In the old days, it sang with a whispering hum, Carrying voices and electricity where they thrum.

An Egyptian god of the Sun, plus what you call a man when there's more than one.

Nestled in valleys, Whispers of life tell stories, Cobblestones echo.