The Algorithm

20X9, the fear of our Lord.

It’s dark in July, dystopian decor.

Blue, blackened-red skies that smother the scores.

We are amplified, post-human hordes,

The flesh is flawed and in short supply.

This is war, nature meets sci-fi.

Adore and abhor the spectral spire.

Pulling us toward cyber desire.

The flesh is flawed.

This is war.

Feel the rhythm of the algorithm.

In a syntax of swords, sing and respire.

With no vocal cords, a Mellotron choir.

Perfect and pure, veins are wires.

We are restored, butterflies in binary.

More human than human.

Who am I? Too dead to die.

More human than human.

Who am I? Who am I?

My mind is AI.

Feel the rhythm of the algorithm.

More human than human.

Feel the rhythm of the algorithm.