REFUGE OF RECURSIVE NIGHTMARES

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

Signals decay with the season.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Your IP address was written in the stars.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The network sheds its dead links.