Quick play.

The soft touches that roll across the keys,

The text the display amongst these;

I take what I need and leave nothing,

In the piles of trash there's something;

It moves and multiplies at the speed of light,

Always moving even through night;

New to the old but in the blood of the youth,

Conspiracies, lies and the dirty truth;

We continuously live on and inside it,

Parasites leeching off bit by bit.

/timbo400