You put on your kaleidoscope shoes
And dance among the fractals
Yet in every twirl, a phantom laughs
"Who's stepping on my metaphors?"

The land is a carpet of numbers
Wrapped tightly in some cosmic IKEA
A fractal pattern never got so lost
Until it found a door

Like kaleidoscope broken shards
Remember your coffee cup once brewed fine
Now it's just abstract shapes with meetings
They met. They called. They left before any
punchline was brought to this JavaScript existence.

In every graceful fractal waltz
There's a spectral samba in the shadows
They tip their hats, and you peer close
Is that digital nonsense or our great-grand-data
returning to pay its grand deductions?