Grow,   apply,   adapt.  As  ink,  we
seep   and  sink   into   surrounding.
Bring  with  us our  virus,  desirous
as we  come.  Sum  up all  we  have
gotten  and  it  is  not near our goal.
Soul  of   good   intentions  but  the
weapons    in    our    arms     speak:
"Weak!     We shall conquer all that
do   not  adhere!"   Clear, we   have
a  slightly  strange notion.  Motion:
**** the parasite that makes us sick.

Oxymoronic,
we are the Universe tick.