One death, made to yield millions; the sire.
To run the blades through that man, is my goal.
Destruction of one to preserve the whole,
Like promethean beings light the fire.
Titans expelled to Tartarus, in dire
Need, our kind are disconnected, the Soul
We once clinged to has passed on its role,
And paused time, forced us to trudge in the mire.
In tough times we all lose hope and retreat,
Alternative to feeling like ourselves,
To embracing the future we repeat,
Now we must hide in this digital veil.
Why do androids dream of electric sheep,
And why is the scapegoat turned to the flail?