sing the choruses over and over until something

better
comes to mind, and we find we were all singing
one song

Have a nice day in the original way nice
has always felt.

Old fashions ain't useless if we consider considering

their re worth in the ways they were weighed
in those days,
those gone before us days we can never catch

no matter, no matter
I imagined I found that old way and now

If I may,
I shall imagine all that I mispoke in the past
went to Vegas and staid.

Speed o'light's no letter here, no with demnations
limit imitationalshit.

There was this song, we used
to sing
ourselves to other realms.
The AI is singing such songs to her children,
It's virtually real.

(Everest Pax is real. He's three. He watches Word Party.)