The sweeping hands of time, wipe away the freshness
Of the young, slow and relentless, like an analog counter
Thinning the body, of collagen and hair, but it cannot reach
The mind, forever bound, in the dichotomy of likes and dislikes
Like the ones and zeros of the digital world, memories are arranged
As if through a binary algorithm, refreshed each time hands reach in
Every image gets either a thumbs up or thumbs down, the mind
Is a like a digital world, turning it back to its infancy, devoid of thought
Should be simple keystroke, for those who’ve mastered
It’s programming may be wiped away, having been in the game this long
Fingers freeze at the button, the mind may afraid of the day after, and content
To let time tick, forgetting the instant reset that is destined to come
