This is the way it all ends,
with screaming depravity.
My light, in the water bends,
folding reflux gravity.
I emptied my soul of light,
now fires it built, explode.
All in the silence of night,
beneath the glowing diode.
My machine is working fine,
electric under my skin,
plastic and metal entwine,
in sounds that are unhuman.
Then slowly without breathing,
I return to the sunlight,
so the world that I'm feeling,
is no longer scarred by sight.

On the surface of the street,
this is the time now passing.
I can feel the searing heat,
bodiless hands are grasping.
Rolled against the concrete floors,
fear stains the mind and conscience.
There are no more hidden doors,
all that’s left is allegiance,
I am now no longer bound,
but still remain a robot,
Another story rewound…
wordlessy told in Robot.
Together they’ll face the tree,
alone apart from the earth.
What does it take to be free?
What could it really be worth?

Here now lives the parasite,
as always it is feeding.
Longing for the winter night,
and a way to stop bleeding.
I live always in summer,
but my ally is the cold.
My illusion is number,
and the shadows start to fold.
I feel you wasting my time,
it really doesn’t matter,
I step back across the line,
the pages age and tatter.
In the city square I stand,
watching the cracked sundial,
I raise my pocket watch hand,
not moving for awhile.

I wander to the station,
no trains will pass here today,
I will still cross with caution,
over tracks of yesterday.
Have you built yourself again,
from the cyborgs in the street,
bits of wire, gold, and tin?
I know that soon we will meet.
Are we friends or enemies?
I guess we’ll know soon enough.
A wind chime rings, made of keys,
rusted down and looking rough.
I will return home again,
and search for you tomorrow.
I will acquire by then,
the tyme you wish to borrow.

Protoplasm can survive,
they say, in the bitter cold,
if instead boiled alive,
looses chance of growing old.
You recrudesce in my blood,
and multiply in the stream.
You shamble out from the mud,
but your blades sparkle and gleam.
Lets make believe that we’re green,
much greener than malachite.
Then we’ll fight the angry queen,
while the cats talk all night.
Soon we come out of the mirror,
but we still want to believe.
Really, why have we come here?
What do we hope to achive?

So messages they will send,
as they drink from the dark cup,
If I began at the end,
how could I ever catch up?
Yet they’ve decided our fate,
and the universe is old.
Believe that it’s not to late,
out there in the deepest cold,
and we yet, all, may survive.
There is so much less from this,
and so much more to arrive.
But beware the spiders kiss,
seeking only to destroy.
And beware the plastic earth,
manufactured to kill joy.
This is the end and rebirth.

No plastic entwines your skin,
now wings will guide you home.
Slowly your breath will begin,
You place down the ancient tome.
You return from the sunlight,
and the world you feel is there.
Beyond the tears of the night,
and beyond our foolish fear.
For when the darkness had come,
together, we all stood strong.
and we knew the final sum,
had been written all along,
A reversal is massing,
they cannot move through the door.
This is the tyme now passing,
Seven Hundred eighty four.