the stage is set, the frame is laid
the best of plans on keyboards played
some marked: alea iacta est
lord shiva’s dance will sweep the rest
a forest fire clears the brush
the pallet swaps from “old” to “lush”
this buffer flips, that line goes high
to live and grow and learn – or die.
our era closes. it’s a draw!
the audience begins to cry:
“the set was rigged! the actors bought!
this message was not what we thought!”
our sphinx is mighty as the rest.
this one, evolving, ever jests:
“give up, go home, pass out. repeat:
our future runs upon three feet!”