spiritcoda

Laughter of voices filled the halls, Strange but familiar  the haunting moods, A stranger that holds the binds yet a ghost that is walking Each morning sat in a circle crowd, frozen in place like a machine, Input, output thats all that matters I know not the meaning, yet driven, yet these hands must type the notes, Yet this voice must command another soul, Yet this mind must crunch the numbers, Yet this feet must walk again, To begin this endless cycle again Exits there are no signs, only commands that circulate like networks, Wires that pull us along this digital world...