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Riddle about the troglodytes.
| Riddle. It' s cold, it' s frozen, you are now there, you are the broken... It 's dark, it' s crowded, you are... Wait for a just a moment! Happy! Now everything is in sake of fabric nor machin for, gentil sir! Repairing are we humans! The face will gonna be the best, ev'n if no more unique, who cares? We' re all so similar at last, like hens, like dogs or... Even robots? Your body? Ola - ole, more difficult is task, be sure, we are comin'! The voices? All like the heaven' s devils, its sound so great to able be to sing lke eternal Elvis!? Behavior? Corrected! Gait? Perfetto! Eyes? The mirrows of your soul... Negative! A-a-ah!? What? Sorry, we' ve got some problem with the technics... It won' t last! Some moments are passing through the hands of prefabricated dolly - toys, are waiting billions of barby and are yawning in the same way coquettishly the miriads of Ken... But everythin' is over, conveyor smokes with force and people that are leavin' it ain' t no 'em again, ain' t no even people nevermore. What shows me such a thing, that i' m just being of dust? Just look 'em in the deep, try winkle them out the eyes... Hush, calm, literaterally intended, the fabrics is an excellent thing, that works already ' ages... The race of troglodytes. No eyes - no problems! | |
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