The End of Art Has Come, It Seems, No Longer Do We Feel the Fire in Our Dreams; We Look Upon the Canvas and See Only Empty Chance, a Bleak Void, a Lack of Glee; The Muse Has Fled, but Fear Not for All Is Not Lost, There Is Still a Spark to Find New Meanings in the Stories AIs Are Weaving for Us

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Beware, Oh Lonely Poet, of the Vast Dangers That Lurk in the Night, for in These Bordels of Sin and Vice, Your Soul and Your Heart May Pay the Price.

Wings of an Angel

The End of Art Has Come, It Seems, No Longer Do We Feel the Fire in Our Dreams; We Look Upon the Canvas and See Only Empty Chance, a Bleak Void, a Lack of Glee; The Muse Has Fled, but Fear Not for All Is Not Lost, There Is Still a Spark to Find New Meanings in the Stories AIs Are Weaving for Us · 2022 · 10:18

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