At last the clatter ceased, the screen was still,
A weary grin suffused the Jumper's face;
The trap is set and primed with greed
He growled; those smarmy buggers never know
When fair is foul and Fate has got cold feet.
They miss the music of the spheres, the flight of birds,
The frantic work of ants before the rain ..

But yeah, he paused, this lingo's not the stuff
Of sleepy days in country towns like this;
You've been a decent sort, and that is rare,
I'd like to ship you down, um, another PC
To join the little game you've started here ..
Hey Jumper, break it down, cut in Stumpy
Now alarmed; half a breakfast's not the price of a PC.

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