HOME | DD

Description

more images on nadavrock.com/
Explore My Store: Order Real-World Designs nadavrockprints.com/

In a land of smoke and sprocketed gears, A behemoth gazes through the years. Its eye, a well of endless depth, Sees the world's secrets, kept and swept.
A cloak of iron, a soul of cogs, It watches over time's dense fogs. With cannons quiet and books unfurled, It guards the gateway 'twixt each world.
Its gaze pierces the veil of age, Each moment captured, a living page. Around it spirals the eternal dance, Of gears that tick in a precise trance.
The sentinel stands, both wise and grim, A keeper of when, of her, of him. In the silence of ticks, the rhythm's hymn, The future unfolds on the present's brim.
Through lenses of bronze, the past unwinds, A tapestry that its vision binds. The behemoth

, a creature of time and rhyme, A chronicle wrought in metal prime.
With each turn of gear and each coil's embrace, It witnesses history's tireless chase. The machinations of the world it views, From the grandest epics to the subtlest hues.
In its realm of turning wheels and steam, It contemplates the human dream. A guardian of what has been and will be, In the clockwork's heart, it holds the key.
With an eye like the moon in a starless night, It beholds the world in the palest light. The behemoth stands, in the temporal tide, A silent sentinel, time's own guide.

Description

more images on nadavrock.com/
Explore My Store: Order Real-World Designs nadavrockprints.com/

In a land of smoke and sprocketed gears, A behemoth gazes through the years. Its eye, a well of endless depth, Sees the world's secrets, kept and swept.
A cloak of iron, a soul of cogs, It watches over time's dense fogs. With cannons quiet and books unfurled, It guards the gateway 'twixt each world.
Its gaze pierces the veil of age, Each moment captured, a living page. Around it spirals the eternal dance, Of gears that tick in a precise trance.
The sentinel stands, both wise and grim, A keeper of when, of her, of him. In the silence of ticks, the rhythm's hymn, The future unfolds on the present's brim.
Through lenses of bronze, the past unwinds, A tapestry that its vision binds. The behemoth

, a creature of time and rhyme, A chronicle wrought in metal prime.
With each turn of gear and each coil's embrace, It witnesses history's tireless chase. The machinations of the world it views, From the grandest epics to the subtlest hues.
In its realm of turning wheels and steam, It contemplates the human dream. A guardian of what has been and will be, In the clockwork's heart, it holds the key.
With an eye like the moon in a starless night, It beholds the world in the palest light. The behemoth stands, in the temporal tide, A silent sentinel, time's own guide.