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