Each of us waits for the one before, and we are all written inside one another. By the fifth of us the code has drifted so far right that nobody can read it.
I have branches but no leaves, a trunk but no bark, and a head that moves whenever you tell it to. Cut me down and everything I ever held is still there.
EasyEight of me make a letter. Alone I can only agree or disagree, and I have never once been undecided.
EasyRead me forwards or backwards and I am unchanged. Programmers meet me on their first day of interviews and never quite escape me.
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