If the fiddler wont sing, it’s because the fiddler is playing a bad tune. I can hear the violins, can’t see the fiddler, it must be out of tune. The poker game is waiting but without the fiddler there is no game. The train passes Georgia but only Alice was on board without mothers cabinet. The tunnel darkens the ages, but there is a light at the end where the devil awaits with a hand full of aces. The fiddler has the kings of jokers in pocket and a bullet for Russian roulette.
If the sitting gets hard, if the clones start to talk, if sleep walking turns to sleep sitting then everything died with the age of time. The hand of jokers is no match for a hand of aces, if we think to much and feel to little, if more then machinery we need humanity, we need weapons dealers to create the machines and destroy humanity to make misery. It’s the ways of the old youth. The orders make no peace just wars. The tyrants create peace within their tyrannies.
It’s all virtual, and pictured text. What ever the fiddler found in the cabinet must of been out of this world. Things sure got small and big fast. People tend to forget their all just but hallucination.
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