Cacophonous thoughtschools condensed to one spot
An amalgam I made with my vacuum of thought
This wretched machine, and the wry 'wit' it's wrought—
Has it ever been me? Has it all been for naught?

Lambaste the pursuit of "original thought"
That bastard of metrics groks consciousness not
To explore one's horizons, express one's true wants,
Isn't that the true mark of sophonts?