Singing the Song of Rust

It's happened on your last watch. In a lonesome salvage yard, she - who was raised by machines - like an electric shadow on a hopeless, desolate street in Berlin, was risen by the taste of your swallowed tears as bitter as gall, the music of your careless heartbeats singing its own song of rust, exhaling radiowaves for picture and thus bring you into life again by reshaping the man - from the sounds of wind chimes and piano accords - who you were more than half a life ago.