Pour their mind, grinds it all,
Free beings crushed, thick fluid,
Becomes same sized balls.
The process began,
Let’s hope it won’t come to the point of perfection..
Happens all in the dark,
Ambient fog of unconsciousness.
FourEyes is the machine,
Those smiling eyes..
Now is this a key ?
Sache que jamais tu ne répondras,
Mais toujours je rêverai de toi,
Car mon subconscient ne veut pas,
Te faire disparaitre dans l’effroi.
The cat has the key.
That’s a shy bird, it is contemplating the ground, or grieving these lives.
So many souls lost in the sea.
That man is praying.
That man is working.
I know they’re coming back.
And the king has arrived, with his golden plate,
For what it contains truly matters.
Sometimes I wonder if life isn’t just a string of continuous interactions with anything and everything, such that it never stops, all we are are actors of this giant fraud.
Nobody can truly grasp the direction which we are choosing…
You’d need to be omniscient.
Surely A.I. would figure it out in a split second.
Les fourmis qui chantent se font rare.
“Let’s get in.”