We think we matter
as if we can climb the latter
and that we can gather
more than a splatter
of value
but imma tall you
we march the earth thinking we are such a hottie
but we are just sloppy carbon copies
inferior souls in these tiny sloppy bodies
and we could not be
any less original
just strands of digital
recycled coding
whether its sunny, rainy, or snowing
we just keep blowing
our own horns.