The number haunts me,
I see it still.
On every clock,
and window sill.
Nothing is real,
on that we agree.
But if that is so,
who’s reality?
A series of bits,
into your brain.
If you take in too many,
they call you inane.
The number haunts me,
I see it still.
On every clock,
and window sill.
Nothing is real,
on that we agree.
But if that is so,
who’s reality?
A series of bits,
into your brain.
If you take in too many,
they call you inane.