Kiss My Machine

To hell with the question of the human race
To hell with the notion that we possess immortal grace
We’ll only be remembered as the creator of machines
Computer introspection reveal the Philistines

Brag about solution, run from revolution
The tide of evolution is pouring in tonight
When the people all are gone like sacrificial pawns
The pride of IBM will continue to recite:
Bow Down Bow Down Bow Down and Kiss My Machine

We’re never gonna get out of this post-synthetic hell
Forget your mumbled prays say hello to Pavlov’s bell
Automatic Preconditioned priests of Henry Ford
Crying out for liberty cause we’re so goddamned bored

Masochistic Fatalistic searchers of our youth
Existential, lost potential seekers of the truth
The universe is waiting for our final epitaph
Don’t expect philosophy just a madman’s laugh.

One day the created will return to meet their gods
But they’re gonna be disappointed we’re just a bunch of clods
Or if they’re really lucky we’ll have blown ourselves away
Just another parasite returning to the clay.