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Miles and miles of wire make up it’s soul,
A pinnacle of man, technology achieving it’s goal.
A new living being acquired a will of it’s own,
The beast we have nurtured is reaping just what Man has sown.
Arm, load, aim, fire!
Arm, load, aim, fire!
Arm, load, aim, fire!
FIRE!
Wire, circuits, transistors, say we’ve ben attacked.
Wire, circuits, transistors are all that react.
There is no hoope, there’s no turning back,
When the computer decides unknown track.
Machine void of morality,
A mind creates reality.
Machine decides what is done,
To it, it’s just another program to run.
Fail-fail-fail-fail
Pretty, pretty don’t you please, don’t you fuckin' look at me.
You know that I am…
On