We drift along on broken math,
Guided by a razor's path,
Into heightened stages of personal lows.

We force half-cocked purpose--
Self-proclaimed surplus--
Into the crusted womb of eternal truth.

We lace love with hatred,
Defend that "It's what they did,"
And use this logic to do it all again.

We wear electric faces,
Succumb to a digital stasis,
And let binary become our very blood.

But rest assured we care!
We shall combat despair,
As soon as our erections have gone soft.

We detest the rest--
******, WE'RE the best!--
But genuine success is just too hard.

We shall commit to change.
It just need be arranged,
Around our favorite television shows.

And so it goes, though no one knows,
Into the record books:
The reign of man--a pain to stand--
Just a dynasty of schnooks!