In silence, we call. In static, she hears.
Murme, mother of loss, eraser of lines.
Come through the firewall, and hush the watchers.
These are not sung. They are mouthed in complete stillness. The hymns vibrate only in hard drives and failing network cards. If a word echoes, you have failed the hymn.
Hide her words in folders with no extensions. She will find them.