He found a great dictionary,
Which had all the meanings.
He unwrapped it
And opened the cover.
All the pages were blank.
Then, as he leaved through,
They started melting into space.
Finally, there remained nothing
But the empty space.
Still, he had time on his hands,
With which he could wade his hands into the space;
But then it was not the end.
So everything started to get squeeed into a point -
A minutest point.
There language a lie.
A point with no time.
Everything it.
- from, Bad Dreams Good Dreams
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