My author’s uncertain yet my title’s the same,
I contain random text yet order’s my aim.
Read me one day and see my pages are totally bare.
Try again another day and the words will be there.
I’m not a book of magic, although it may sound,
I can predict the future, and inside, your life can be found.
Move my eye, I become involved in lactic extraction.
But that’s just a clue, a minor distraction.