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In the twilight of civilization, shadows stretch like dusty memories,
Europe and America, once beacons, retreat wearily from the stage of history,
Under the pale light of days gone by, the depths of collective memory stir,
The new era makes its presence felt, a mechanism pulsing with the cold rhythm of innovation.
On the brink of this dawn, the world of technicians is born, taming machines of thought,
Reason becomes a tool, fragmenting the soul into shining numbers and algorithms,
Existential questions melt away before screens that gaze upon us with cold eyes,
We, the children of a bygone era, seek solace in the echoes of old cultural symphonies.
Ah, God, have mercy on us, lost in the realm of steel and silicon,
Where hearts become ghosts haunting the mechanical dream of a new world,
Searching for humanity among interfaces that reflect only masks lacking depth,
In the tumult of thoughts spilled into the ocean of melancholy, we ask: where does the soul go?
Under the vast sky of the new era, we seek our place among the cold stars of the artificial constellation,
The nostalgia of a lost world brings us to our knees, praying for divine light,
To guide our steps towards a horizon where machine and man dance together,
In a union that transcends the barriers of time, preserving the dreams of old.

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