Gate 9

Machines made by machines stitched into the dreams of waking men

I see this with tar in my eyes
a dark diguise
for torturous times.

Conglomerates only use us to annihilate
sharks gather to circle wide
and
inside the pentogram
the son of
man
laptop computing

but it's no good him shooting
the messenger

which
by the way is the last carrier pigeon.

If you gave me a dollar for every dog that
I chose to follow
I'd have fifty nine cents

damaged in transit?
no ****!

I was broken long before robots were spoken of in whispers and men were being taken to secret locations,

The seer is branded the madman then handed to the knights of the grand inquisition

a position I no longer care to be in,
so I vacate become vacant
machines run silent, complacent?

and I don't trust them
what but machines make machines made by men to take us to force us to war but by then it'll be too late

for anyone
and no one is listening

do not believe time
time is not on your side
we're at the last stroke if
even the clock can be
trusted

If I am the last man standing
who will listen to me then?
machines made by machines
made by men
who
when the chips were down
left us holding their
baby.