The machine
Has taken on
A life of it's own
It has become purpose
Without reason
Purpose alone
It is wired
With rules and regulations
Written for compliance
For blind obedience
For it's own perpetuation
The cold machinations
Have no desire
No meaning
Other than purpose
To survive and grow
And we, we are
The lubricant
Crushed between
The gnashing gears
To aid the machine
And make it
Run smoothly