in a grave of scrap fading to black blip blip the script is flipped to slit the wires and expire gripless chipsets cos the analog empire is required to retire digi-mental mindframe, a restrained brain within the card bricks tell motherboards and other cores to erode on our hard disks old engines equals junkzones junctioned to system malfunction recycled items crawls outdone in dusty, grey-walled dungeons terminated terminals string-reaching post mortem beacons decoding nodes to death-by-default as their modems weakens re-control console protocols, end-process lesser souls reboot, mute, refuse to compute as these droids gets old what is sacred? the matrix got our fate fixed as seasonal tech no logical inputs, bits per sec outputs by emotional wrecks crackling screams, flashing screens across the thrashed scene no patches recieved, for the detached machines in a grave of scrap fading to black
