Say "hello!" to the little-orange friends, with them our mind extends; and further. Or is it...how far?
Please drive slow, crawling level with the wheels of the car. Look, it's that space, the "old place"; remembering that face. From her lips, my past, I trace.
Definitions tend to change. The way they are described sounds so strange. Oh, you fickle little words, or more so, you ink scribbles resembling flocks of birds.
I have been asked to descry meaning from you, from such language.  It's a clairvoyant mission that will only promise me anguish. My mortality,  my fears, all of the limits holding me shall be broken and  then finally, my own identity, I'll vanquish.