3rd Machine

Verily, the time preceding hibernation doth mark a season most curious, wherein creatures of warm blood, chiefly amongst them the beasts of the field, do partake in an overabundance of sustenance.
Their bodies, through nature’s most subtle artifice, do store such nourishment in folds of fat, whilst their vital humours and inner workings slow in preparation.
Thus, they stand ready for the slumber long and deep, a sleep of many moons, during which the fires of life burn dim, and all the world without is naught but winter’s breath.

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Listen (and sing a long) to Demise of Democracy:

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https://tinyurl.com/27jvwn4x