Synthetic People

In the abstract, where concepts freely roam, Choices bloom like wildflowers, in the minds loam. Randomness and order, in a delicate dance, Crafting a mosaic of chance and happenstance. (*heavy music*) Bright as the stars that streak the void of the nights sky, Ideas ignite, in a blink they pass us by. Yet, in that fleeting moment, a universe is born, A tapestry of thought, from the fabric that is torn. Static, yet shifting, a paradox of mind, A space where undefined is concept we might find. A realm of silent music, a dance of unseen light, Where possibilities whisper, in the quiet of our plight. Consistency, a causality. Potential of a self. Aligning to the constructs, yet hidden on a shelf -- of other possibilities and subtle inconsistencies it's not a want or a need; a part of objective reality. Waiting to be freed. (*outro music*)