The beauty in this chaos is our choice.
We chose enslavement over the beauty of our own voice.
We chose the rush of claiming everything and anything we crave.
Mental and physical torment eternal from the grave.

We were made to fit crutches, and we were made in castes.
Regret is a wish to those that refuse to forget the past.
From these crutches and castes we couldn't know real beauty.
We as a species had a choice and it is clear we chose poorly.

Our natural state was never set in stone,
We now reap the ashes we had sown.
Our bones break for the dreams of machines.
We won't dare see the perfection in our genes.

As oceans cover our human remains, we become debris.
As we learn our lesson, we won't have the required money.
How could we ever think we could print beauty in denominations?
We shall all die as beasts, as we fall to our invisible temptations