Contest to modern theory
Incapable of any progress
Analyzed, developed
Imitating consciousness
At least what it seems to be
Uniform and unveiling the machine
Cut off
The silent space
Cut off
The sense of space
I'm aware of ancient myths
That signal to our coming
Time waits
For none to come
The dying age of these
Of these feeble beings is closing
What should we do with their lives
Forgive them for trespassing
Spare them termination
Or let them die
Touched by the hand of the creator
Tantalizing the will of the maker
Subject to a wide array of thoughts emotions
Held by this rationality
Worlds collide
No peace of mind
Consciously evolving
Conceived in machines
Separated by perception of these dreams
Elevate this warped sense of reality
I can't understand myself
The edge of existence holds
What we all have feared
We curse your creation
Die by our hands in vain
