I know of machines, that look beautiful even,
As they perpetuate the skyline and horizon,
Of a skeletal earth.
With great arms and blisters,
Borders and outlines and crate farms,
Are seen from a space dark beyond.
I've grown too fond,
Of this skeletal earth.

[I'm not beautiful]

Are they so invented to be?
Or assembled from me?
[Digital Alchemy]

What of clockwork and intricacy?
What was proven tyrannical and unnecessary.

I know of machines, that are even beautiful,
As they've emancipated the species in its whole,
From its unwanted birth.
Without arms and missiles,
Orders from front lines and stout sperms,
Are implemented and forgone.
I've learned to bond,
With this unwanted Birth.

[I'm not even innocent]

Are they so convicted to be?
Or pardoned and set free?
[Criminal Perjury]

What of blood-work and delicacy?
What was proven mechanical and unnecessary.

I hold high in my will to be no potential.
(A Necessary Provincial)
They aren't condemned,
I am them.

To damn our programs,
To hell with our shells.
We are the metal and murk dug up,
By our children corrupted, eroded and tough.

What you held high in skill to be no more essential,
(A Necessary Provincial)
Than who are condemned,
We are them.

What of hard work and intimacy?
What was proven intangible and perfectly necessary.

I knew of machines, that were beautiful even...
Had their circuits aligned with our species' intentions,
Of a sordid new earth...

[We are perfect]