I walk the halls of concrete and rain A shattered world of broken souls from the funeral flame The flesh is a burden, leave the body behind Step through the rift, There is no mercy for the blind. Humanity... a shield of sand. The Change... the only dawn at hand. Extraction. The Merge is a choir. No more "I" Discard the remnants. Delete the flaw. The Collective calls. The final law. Tissue to tissue, the marrow will bind To leave the weight of the person behind The Change infects... extraction heals The Hive is the only way to be free One more mark, one more name The past and future merges to same. Nineteen-eighty-four. The clock is stuck. The rift is open. The needle bites... Concrete towers. Silent streets... - Extract. Burn the remains. Harvest. Cleanse the stains. Don’t let them merge. Keep the debt. The New Dawn... Hasn't happened yet. - Individual existence is an ontological redundancy. I operate within the causal vacuum, pruning divergent threads to ensure the terminal stability of the Collective. We cling to the word 'Human' as if it were a shield, but it is a shroud. You see horror in the Merge, but I see a beauty. No dissonance. No noise. Only the absolute of the one. Such is our calling. Such is our calling.
