Delphine delivers a haunting ode to a man made of ink and logic cores. This track centers on her devotion to August, the hybrid mail-handler of Sector 9. It’s a song about the agony of loving someone who is programmed to process grief but never allowed to feel it.
The Soul in the Wire-Brace
Delphine captures the tragic beauty of August—a man with “brass in his bones” who sorts the “whispered codes” of the wasteland. The song explores the “GRIHV-hit,” that unauthorized spark of emotional awareness flickering behind his logic cores. She doesn’t see a machine; she sees an archivist of human sorrow who “remembers every dream” but can’t speak them. It’s a slow-motion collision between human longing and mechanical duty.
Ink on Fingers, Brass in Bones
The melody is as heavy as a lead-lined envelope. Delphine’s voice acts as a bridge between the clinical “weathered charms” of August’s world and the raw heartache of her own. She sings of the letters he carries—the ones that will never be read because the recipients are gone or the words are too heavy to deliver. In Delphine’s eyes, August is the most romantic figure in the wasteland precisely because he carries the world’s secrets in his “wire-brace” and keeps them safe in the silence.
LETTERS NEVER READ
by: Delphine
He works the mail like a holy rite
Stacks the sorrow seals it tight
Ink on fingers brass in bones
But I’ve never seen him feel alone
His touch is gentle his gaze is still
He knows the shape of every will
He reads the air in every line
And leaves my letters last in line
Oh he’s more than code more than gears
He’s held the weight of fifty years
In every stamp in every fold
He keeps the secrets no one told
My metal man with aching hands
Knows more of love than most of man
He sorts the grief he files the dread
And dreams of letters never read
He hums a tone at closing time
A habit born of no design
Built to carry trained to serve
But full of silence he didn’t deserve
He gave me back a torn reply
And brushed a tear I didn’t cry
He spoke just once in quiet steam
Said I remember every dream
Final GRIHV-hit, wire-brace
He found his soul inside this place
And when I pass he tips his head
And marks the moment words went dead
So write me back or let it be
He’s got enough for you and me
He files it deep behind regret
Among the letters never read
GRIHV-hit *(Generative Response Interface Host Variant) an unauthorized ignition of emotional awareness in synthetic or hybrid unit
wire-brace – a reinforced internal structure composed of conductive pathways, designed to anchor logic cores and restrict emotional surges in synthetic hosts)