In present times the world is filled up,
Like a crazy cartoon with characters that build up,
A new hope for an inadequate concieved pup,
Be wary of the real undead whose hearts that still pump,
They live and breathe and talk in their pin ups,
Like the crimson they seek to fill up
Their stomachs of ego will still thump,
Unto the light of the unexpecting machine clump,
Running on programs of unending ****,
That is, what they think, for they forgot the time that they believe is up,
They too are humans that are machine dumps.