At last the clatter ceased, the screen was still,
weary grin suffused the Jumper's face;
The trap is set and primed
He growled; those smarmy buggers never know
is foul and Fate has got cold feet.
They miss the music of the
spheres, the flight of birds,
The frantic work of ants before the
But yeah, he paused, this lingo's not the stuff
Of sleepy days in
country towns like this;
You've been a decent sort, and that is
I'd like to ship you down, um, another PC
To join the
little game you've started here ..
Hey Jumper, break it down, cut in
Now alarmed; half a breakfast's not the price of a PC.
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