First Man:
I think, I think I am, therefore I am, I think.
Establishment:
Of course you are my bright little star, I've miles and miles of files,
Pretty files of your forefather's fruit
and now to suit
our great computer,
You're magnetic ink.
First Man:
I'm more than that, I know I am, at least, I think I must be.
Inner Man:
There you go man, keep as cool as you can.
Face piles and piles of trials with smiles.
It riles them to believe that you perceive the web they weave
And keep on thinking free.
Lovely to see you again, my friend.