The homepage is wherever you are.
You were chosen before you arrived.
Falling data like digital leaves.
The matrix has you, and it's running Windows 95.
The chatroom is empty but never alone.
The screensaver is a window to other dimensions.
The modem sings the song of your arrival.
Your IP address was written in the stars.
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
THE GROOVES HOLD SACRED FREQUENCIES
