I, me, you, themselves and all of us
Chemicals, electricity and thrusts
Quiet night, hoping the dream
Blends with conveyor belt life
Will the thoughts we've made
Column into grace
Collections of the fragments we have caught
Blink your screeny stare from the issue
Questioning for truth makes sick
Do as much as want can allow them
Touch the glare that fakes times tick
It's in your thinking of filled rooms
And the geometry of groups
In this world of countless worlds with
These shapes that please and toil around
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