Who are our fathers and what have they done with our trust?
Each time we reach through the root our catch is fruit we've been denied.

A shadow is a strange but welcome bedfellow for a
Recluse here in the silicon boneyard,
End of line for the scavenging harbingers.

At night the freaks come out to work crafting
New and fleeting marks on an arcane slate
Over wires the naked emperor built.
Now the host succumbs to the flames it fed;
Sore eyes for ciphered sites.