Who knows how to feel anymore?
Days flit by, we miss them go bye,
Too busy, we worship lights and CV
And awake. Awake? What do we do awake?
Then, well, we lose sleep. But why? why? why?
Is it the light of the sky?
Nay.
Is it the light in a lover’s eye?
Nay.
Is it the light of a candle?
Nay.
The light of the moon, It must be.
Nay. Nay. None of that.
Just a rectangle, a hand-caller to show us all we want.
A sea of blind knowledge and bodiless friends.
Welcome to the twenty-first, youth, the century of the zombie.
True
Sent from my iPad
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Thank you rugby!
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