He last called my name,
Then he could speak no more,
I have seen many deaths,
I knew he was going to die.
They hospitalised him,
To check what was wrong.
I sat by the bed praying,
He breathed fast,
In between long sighs,
His eyes were glassy,
I asked for forgiveness,
He moaned,
Nodded several times,
I began to cry,
He was with the angels,
Reliving his past.
It is coming to an end,
The beeps on the machine slow,
Tears fall from his left eye,
He gives a heavenly smile,
Looks at me lovingly,
Let go of my hand.
The machine beeps no more,
Gently I close his eyes and mouth,
Straighten his legs and hands,
He was gone peacefully.
A man of great patience and love,
He gave all and asked for nothing.

Oh Son of two Corrupted hearts and moving parts
shatter the glass that holds your heart,
let the blood flow like rain
You are only a part of the machine they say
but you know the truth
spoken between the words of vipers
you are more than what they say
You are what you see to be

Machines are only as beautiful
as the nature of their function.
Consider a grandfather clock --
a handsome combination
of practicality and playfulness,
symmetry and simplicity
(though quite complex within) --
wood and steel joined perfectly
to inform, entertain, and intrigue.
     Conversely, a television lacks
such subtlety, making it
almost malicious in its capacity.
In its nature is the intention
to render nature, itself, obsolete.
Where a television aims to
make us forget,
a clock, for instance, serves to
remind us that it is time to
start living -- and what could be
more noble or more beautiful
     than that?

I speak
About hating
How I speak
I have feelings
About my extreme
Lack of feeling
I find myself
In all the ways
I've lost myself
Machines gain souls
Once they've realized
They are machines

Here I am again
banging and clanging
Pots and pans
on
head of lead
Ripped and tan

Scream and shout
Twist and pout

Aint nobody gon' talk about

you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you, or you,







...and yeah.

you too.

I am a human,
I have emotion,
I act like a fool;
It depends on my mood...
I scream and I cry,
I argue and I fight,
I mess up every little thing that's good in my life...

I'm sick of my heart ruling me; it doesn't do it very well.
If I mute the pain, will I be able to escape this hell?
I will lock it up inside, and I will let my heart grow cold.
My mind will have it's time because my heart has let my weakness show.

I am not human
I feel no emotion
I feel no pain
I feel nothing
I'm unable to cry
No matter what I try
Oh how I want to feel something and know that I'm alive

I'm sick of my mind ruling me it doesn't do it very well
Now that I've gotten here I hope I'm able to escape this hell
My mind knows of the love that's there but my heart is a deadly cold
I have become mechanical a statue nothing more than gold

I am half human,
I feel some emotion
My mind fights to win,
To lock up my heart again
I'm not sure what to think
Should I float, should I sink
My heart is fighting for its life, but my mind can't blink