You are a light bulb.

You're a miracle, something that should only happen once in the life of a universe, but instead forced into molds and made by the thousands.

You are made to bring light to rooms that would other wise be lit by the indispensable candle. The candle, of course, is out of a job far more than is the light bulb.

You are constrained by the limits of the world around you. By the circuits. By the chains. You are a light bulb.

You are a light bulb. When you finally burn out from doing your job the same way you always have, you will be replaced without much mourning. You will soon be forgotten, another broken piece of glass in a dump heap somewhere covered in the rotting remains of cheese.

You are a light bulb. You will be forgotten.

You are a light bulb. Nobody will tell stories of you after you go. You have been trained for all your life to be a light bulb. You will not go outside of the lines. You will not, for you may burn down that which you light up.

You are a light bulb. A factory made you out of glass and gas and casts.

You are a light bulb. You will burn out just like every other light bulb.

You are a light bulb. Everyone in your factory can do your job.

You are a light bulb. You are quite fragile and it doesn't take much to destroy you. It doesn't matter though. The replacements are waiting to take your place.

You are a light bulb. You cannot apologize for being a light bulb, for it is not your fault you are a light bulb.

You are a light bulb. Energy flows through you and is expended into your work and nothing else.

You are a light bulb.

You are a light bulb.

You are a light bulb.