We have glass instead skin.
Our veines are just wires.
Where is our scheme?
It is there on the ice.
Our hands are just traps.
Our eyes’re telescopes.
Our ears are seashells.
Think over – whаt are we?
It’s a scream out of my ill soul.
It’s a scream of the robot’s heart.
And to live I need like you oil
It’s empty. My head is too hot.
We have chips instead brains.
Our tongues’re made of rubber.
We don’t have any reasons
For catching cold, sobbing.
Our nails’re made of steel.
We have wheels instead feet.
Who are we, were and will?
Please, no answer, just sit…
It’s a scream out of my ill soul.
It’s a scream of the robot’s heart.
And to live I need like you oil
It’s empty. My head is too hot.
Scream
© Copyright: Андрей Растегаев, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108042602367
Свидетельство о публикации №108042602367
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