An extinguished orb sinks beneath pixilated clouds of digital data,
as zeros and ones rain from the Matrix created by Gates
in Silicon Valley when God became Jobs and Elon a Crowley
of elohēm blood. Read the Gospel. Unplug.
"Technology cometh to blot out the Sun". This topic's become
the dystopic conclusion of Lucifer's lust. Abusing our lungs.
Pollution and drugs. Robotic gestopos with too many guns.
Computing the funds. Crypto-currently poor. Indebted to serpents
of virtual lore.The purpose of war? Is burguyndy poured
on circuitry boards. Thus feeding the beast that nurtures the Borg.
Give birth and then form an opinion that's yours before it's too late
and you mimick the horde of techno-organic parasitical spores.
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"Why have enemies, when you can have friends?"
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