A thousand lives flicker across the screen
Reaching through the eyes to pry at the mind,
Till even the non-existant scents can be smelled
Telling of their sorrows, loves, of their existance.
Je m'appelle, Ich heiße, My name is.
The names that are real through their lies
Worker Bee. T0Y. Timor Mortis. Unbound Word.
Arguing, introducing, living a life
that is only real as the computer screen makes it.
The typed word screamed into your ear. The
scratchs on paper. Niether kid, teen, nor adult
Not Asian, African, European, American, or
Austraulian.Of , gahs, yays.Universal language
Of none at all.
Whats with disruption, spamming of the boards
You'd better stop it.
Or you'll be bannned. Look! I proved my point,
Its annoying By annoying us till we kill you?!?
Never, move. Travel the universe! While the thefts
of Identity steal your soul, Leaving it as a mere
Shadow. Manifest of what it once was
The thoughts of others disapearing
You realize. They are yet still a mystery.
On this Earth, the taste of oxiginated
air, bringing the smell of toxic fumes
That let us live in the area of degrees of 4
The land that James brought us all
Yet the ungrateful weep. Longing for
The land of the Double V. The bizzare
fights of love. And the stories we
Will tell. To the commers of new. International
wars irrelivant to our borderless friendships
The master underdogs complain of no-shows
The land of Degrees of four.
|
|
