Dactylic Robots

Rickety rigs of mechanical gibs, turning
guinea pigs out with astounding proficiency,
erkity erkity erkity erkity,
cramming us in to improve our efficiency.
Fixing the world up by trial and error, they
line us all up to reprocess our brains, so we
think very little and strive to obey.
Look at us, marching like zombies in queues, waiting
patiently as we are stripped of our dues, and our
booze and our blues, all the things that we lose because
some pushy robot had better ideas, some
unconscious automaton, lifeless and vile. Though they
think of the damnedest things once in awhile. Listen,
robots are better at everything anyway,
we should just give up and let them defile us.
Second place isn't our style.

The End

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