Phone scroll of death

Man pushing 40, pushing Life, hanging tight.

Playing house, with the spouse, putting to bed, little rasculls, fast like rockets with their rackets and their tears, with no fears, every night is a fight if you let yourself be the center of attantion.

Scrolling phones, silent house, opposit sides on the couch, different feed, different lives, devided by dopamin and algorithmics that devides.

Breaking Life, breaking harts, torn apart. Started out from the start, same goals, great love that Will never die, unforseen the tehcnology in wich we interweene and loose our beings

Schilling lives, syntesized, derived from lies, another try? We Will Get none. Its a bridge too far now, too far for a cry. Help us, it is done.