PALACE OF PACKET LOSS

Every visitor leaves something behind.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The ceremony hibernates but never sleeps.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

The matrix has you, and it's running Windows 95.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

The old world fades with each page.

Sleep is the first gateway.