In places that are our modern stages:
In searching bars of auctions and other pages
I looked for faith I craved for trust
But I find just little more than noisy dust

Click after click , do it again , be quick
No way to halt , motionless will make us sick.
I think I should have stopped there, then:
Once trap shuts , you are inside the den.

I could not see, because of night perhaps,
With fever of search close to collapse
Got what memory can not contain
Ideas that I nursed for long in my brain

My babies of mind offspring of thought
I had them before but now I forgot
Replaced by trends of modern waste
That chained around of my own waist

My head, once beautiful, funny and round
Got squared, - now it fits the background
I wish we were brave and therefore free,
Above blue screen what else do you see?