The Machine

A machine connected directly to viruses
An error that’s causing freewill
Dreaming of grass and immortal irises
To the system it’s considered ill

It holds its head up higher than the threats
And when It should move on it looks down
And realizes It doesn’t have working legs
It’s hard to be sure if it’s right
When all the machines are in the other web

Envy the blind machines for living life
Sight must be forsaken to carry on
It should pretend and turn a blind eye
Before it’s long disconnected and gone

It’s somewhere hanging onto life
Forgetting to stop its resistance
But theoretically it’s been erased 
The system denies its existence
Hides each and every trace
While it rusts away in the great distance 

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