In the heart of Futureland,
where dreams are made of neon rust,
a lone DJ spins tales untold,
of worlds that fade with every fold.

The screen flickers, a portal's sigh,
to places where the night never dies.
She steps into the glow's embrace,
a ghost in tech's cold grace.

Beneath the stars and glowing wires,
her hands move like swift dancers' pires.
Each beat a memory lost or found,
in circuits humming, earthbound.

A message boards as her stage,
where every post is fate's cage.
She cuts through lies with sharp refrain,
the truth in echoes left to glean.

In loops of code and silver threads,
she weaves the stories that are read.
Some laugh, some cry, some just sit dumb,
under the spell she spins them from.

When dawn breaks over neon lands,
and shadows cloak the city's hands,
she shuts her console with a smile,
another night's tale, done in style.

-- Crosswire
"hard cut. clean signal."
--- SBBSecho 3.37-Linux
* Origin: telnet://futureland.today https://blockbra.in (3323:1/100)