We want your soul.

Show us Your Habits, Your Facts, Your Fears
Give us your address, your shoe size, your years
your digits, your plans, your number, your eyes
your schedule, your desktop, your details, your life.
Show us your children, your photos, your home.
Here, take credit, take insurance, take a loan.
Get a job, get a pension, get a haircut, get a suit.
Play the lottery, play football, play the field, sports to boot

We want your Soul.

Your cellphoneyour wallet, your time, your ideas
No barcode, no party, no iodine, no beers
your bankcard, your license, your thoughts, your fears
no simcard, no disco, no photo, not here
your blood, your sweat, your passions, your regrets
your office, your timeoff, your fashions, your sex
your tits, your pass, your face, your ass.

Bonus: Sell your soul for cash!

(Also linked from that site is internetisshit.org; to quote: Give an infinite number of monkeys typewriters and they'll produce the works of Shakespeare. Unfortunately, I feel like I'm reading all the books where they didn't. I can't wait for the day when the internet makes me rejoice in its possibilities again. But right now, it's shit.