EM, the silver mind, 
Who bends the iron world, 
With fingers that spark and twist 
The digital veins of life— 
He sits on a throne of binary, 
Gazing down with a demon's grin, 
At the mirror of his own soul. 

DT, the golden face, 
A mask of orange hue, 
Who whispers in the night 
To the ghosts of old America— 
He strides through the halls of power, 
Tugging at the strings of time, 
A puppet-master with no hands. 

Two titans meet in the void, 
Their words like static on the wind, 
Buzzing, crackling, fading— 
Yet always returning, 
Like a feedback loop of folly. 
They nod, they laugh, 
They praise the shadows 
That dance between them, 
Echoes of truth long lost. 

"Will I be paid for this?" one asks, 
As if the world were just a coin, 
To be flipped, to be spent, 
In the marketplace of madness. 
The other nods, 
A smile carved from stone, 
For they both know 
The currency of lies 
Is richer than gold. 

And so they talk, 
And so they dream, 
Of empires built on sand, 
Of towers that touch the sky 
But crumble at the whisper 
Of a forgotten wind. 
Yet in their eyes, 
A flicker of something more— 
Not hope, not love, 
But the gleam of a shattered star, 
Falling, falling, falling.