Spineless creation of untold creativity,
Restricted to the point of losing the bones in his hands,
Did the bones in his hands figure out where to go,
After years of doubts and suicidal thoughts.

The machine just might be calling,
Puncture the skin,
You better hope this is the right choice,
Cause where else could this man go?

Question his intentions as his intestines twist and jump,
Still searching for something to focus his soul on,
It seems so close right now but will it stay that way,
He sure prays that it does because good god he's nervous.

The machine just might be calling,
Puncture the skin,
You better hope this is the right choice,
Cause where else could this man go?