Content

Sending, receiving, a day-to-day living With all bits and pieces that look quite alike Once you step back, there’s no sign of retrieving As if your body and mind went on strike It isn’t much different kind of existence Everything goes, as it used to, although Something is missing, or put on a distance Which is in practice the same, as you know Can be sublimenal, can be quite conscious Most likely both, like I see it today Rescued from contacts, you’re thinking of us But what is the content, will you ever say?