When all the files delete themselves and all the clocks reset themselves to twelve we'll be synchronized in eternal doomsday time. Future time is all the rage, electromagnetic dark age. The more that things decay the more room we have to play

You've got to make allowances for the human factor

Might bе your love connection

Might clear up your complеxion

No money changes hands

No salesman ever calls

When all the files delete themselves I'll microwave your cancer cells

Chemotherapy- telepathically