Silly Inquistion

So you ask the computer, is this a beautiful composition

And she says, It's a very good quest, a quaint coincidence, but I have a plantation to run

(It's more like you're an eclectic copycat)

Everything under your fingers is strings. Everything under your feet is strings

Everything you're fleeing, you're feeling, based either on the tides or a cybernetic serendipity limiting your wilderness what turns up beneath the harvest forcing you to need it, or nothing

The ultimatum that didn't begin with the word 'if' didn't exist until... 'you heard the tune, now you gotta pay the piper,' and he had a machine gun, and he was shooting at the score, and so there'd be bullet holes, and he'd reduce the score from its wounds, and that's what people would play, (they'd play the revenue). Fine, isn't this a beautiful composition and she says, I wasn't listening, but don't panic, that means yes, I hear you. Wit is ruining your subconscious, turning you into yourself. And as for the problem of choosing between your memories and your dreams. Nostalgia is the opposite of love. And as for the solution to the problem. I was told that I should want a husband. What I want is for this legend that haunts me with proof, for all of its strings to loosen and contract in unison like facts do. And he says nothing, pulls my hair into a shrug, and then I do