If I could only get the tools, the stimuli and
molecules, frozen moments in time
I could be the archetype, a credit to the
genotype, re-program your mind
But the storybook sages fill their pages
Hiding from the warming sun
Limitless distractions give no pause to distort a
precious delusion
Did you see the moralist retort and raise his fist
"you can't make man a machine"
I can see the edifice crumbling in foggy mist,
razed by discovery
But the storybook sages fill their pages
Hiding from the warming sun
Limitless distractions give no pause to distort a
precious delusion