Too late
Too soon
A callous generation
Unloved
Entombed
In digital fortresses
No heart
No head
Witless
Half-dead
Pre-formed
Pre-set
Like lab rats
In mazes trapped
Open season calls
Prey on the weak
Blind and choked
With strife and irony
The cold embrace
Of technical sophistry
The new primitive
Some things never will change
Medicate
Modify
By deceit
By design
Paragons
Prodigies
Quick to seize control
Armed with reason
Well defined
A belly full of emptiness indeed
Each for themselves
Don’t be late
A boot to the face awaits
Our faith in machines is the albatross hung
Each fault realized in days yet to come
A perfect man
In primitive mold
A thread come undone
An end foretold
Death and laughter
More and faster
Planned disaster
At last
The end of time