dig in and chill my soul.
My cloak, too thin, I wrap about
To shelter I extol.
The texture flames of crackling fire
seem to take away cold's bite.
And warm greetings of fellow avatars
do help my soul feel bright.
Our puppets play a game of words
an excuse to stand within.
Our souls, though, cry for a sense of place
and for forgiveness for our sin.
Lonely spirits use network lines
to seek to solace for their pain.
Our souls now live in copper wires
to search for home again.