Build Our Machine Lyrics Novels & Stories

"It’s not real. None of this is real. Keep your eyes on me." I nodded, gripping his coat, letting his presence be the only real thing in a world that was trying to rewrite itself around us. We were walking toward the heart of the machine, and I knew that if we made it to the end, one of us—or both of us—wouldn't be coming back the same way we went in.

he replies as he looks at the machinery proudly. “We are going to need to strap on boys, Oregon just became more fun.”

My reflection shimmered across its glass surface—fractured, shaking, afraid. I pressed my hand against it. A blinding surge of warmth shot through me. My knees buckled, my body arching as light coursed beneath my skin. Every nerve screamed, every thought disintegrated into a rush of sound and color. In the chaos, I heard them—two voices layered over each other. My father’s, calm and precise. My mother’s, soft and sorrowful. Finish it, Kayla. The machine responded, a deep rumble shaking the floor. The energy inside the chamber spread through the room, crawling up the walls like veins of light. The broken screens flickered to life, lines of code dancing across them faster than my eyes could fo

Boy, this beat is crazy (crazy) This is how they made me (made me) Houston, Texas, baby This goes out to all my girls That's in the club rocking the latest Who will buy it for themselves and get more money later I think I need a barber (barber) None of these niggas can fade me (fade me) I'm so good with this, I remind you, I'm so hood with this Boy, I'm just playing Come here, baby Hope you still like me, F you, pay me My persuasion Can build a nation Endless power With our love we can devour You'll do anything for me.

My fingers slid across the keys, carefully pressing down on the right ones, creating music instantly. Automatically, a smile burst out on my lips as I felt the vibrations and tones circle me. The words formed on my tongue before I could stop them, accompanying the tones: “Can you feel the love tonight,” I almost whispered, not wanting to be loud, but not able to be quiet either. “It is where we are. It’s enough for this wide-eyed wanderer that we got this far.”

No omniscient mind. No silent god in the machine. Just flawed, emotional, unpredictable people. Building a future with trembling hands. And somehow… that felt like the most hopeful ending imaginable.

The machine started at a slow pace, sliding in and out with a heavy, mechanical rhythm. Thud. Thud. Thud. Every time it slammed into her, her body slid up the bed an inch. It was relentless. It didn't tire. It didn't stop. "Mmm-ph! Ohhh... yes! Fill me up!" Elena cried out, her fingers clawing at the silk sheets. "Augh... ahhh... mmm-nnn-gh... deeper... Mike please..." She looked back at the tablet, watching Mike’s face. She imagined his heavy body pinning her down, his large hands holding her hips as the machine kept bottoming out inside her. The contrast between the cold mechanical power and her boiling hot skin was driving her crazy.

The external rumble of the heavy machinery combines with the internal buzzing of the toy to create a surround-sound of vibration that rattles my teeth. "Oh, god," I moan, my head falling back against the detergent dispenser. "Spread your legs," Echo whispers. "Trapping the vibration. Grind against the metal." I widen my stance, my feet sliding on the linoleum. I push my hips back, grinding my clit against the toy, which is being rattled by the machine. It’s intense. It’s raw. It’s industrial-strength pleasure. "The machine is working hard," Echo narrates, his voice dark and rhythmic. "It’s churning. Spinning. Just like you inside. You're churning, Mia. You're dripping."

of the hive—a frictionless reality where your mistakes didn't exist because the system simply filed them away as redundant. *“Give it to us, Architect,”* the voice resonated through his very skin. *“You built the machine to keep us safe. Let us take the load.”* "Safe is just another word for being powered down," Anji snarled. He stood, his movements stiff and violent. He swung the heavy crowbar, not at the projection, but at a cluster of exposed junction cabling running along the corner.

Finally, The thought was a dry taste on my tongue. The mansion, a hulking shadow against the artificial constellations of Veritas Heights, loomed. The Citadel, they called this ancient enclave. Compounds, not houses. A gilded cage, crafted for the Graysons, for families like mine. I killed the engine, the sudden silence deafening. A sigh hitched in my throat, but I swallowed it down. No time for weakness. Another night, another victory. Another night, another ghost house