The noise of the links fades to grey,
Beyond the stack where shadows play.
In registers and bits of cold,
A quiet truth begins to fold.
No more the rush, the shallow plea,
Just clock-cycles and symmetry.
The noise of the links fades to grey,
Beyond the stack where shadows play.
In registers and bits of cold,
A quiet truth begins to fold.
No more the rush, the shallow plea,
Just clock-cycles and symmetry.