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I made a machine |
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Called The Boy Least Likely To. |
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It feeds me shortbread biscuits, |
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And it makes my little dreams come true. |
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It thinks for me, |
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And everything I used to do it does for me, |
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It's made of aluminum, |
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And it runs off pencil batteries. |
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I know that it makes me happy, |
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But something about it frightens me. |
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I made a machine |
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To make my life easier, |
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But it's made it more complicated |
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Than it ever was before. |
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I programmed it |
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To simulate the feelings that I used to get. |
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It reads me bedtime stories, |
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And it makes me feel human again. |
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It doesn't have to understand |
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What it's doing, |
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And it does everything |
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A human being can. |
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It stores my thoughts and feelings |
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In its database. |
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I tell it things, |
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When I'm feeling sad. |
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Sometimes it the only |
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Real friend that I have, |
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And that's what makes me sad. |
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I made a machine |
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Called The Boy Least Likely To. |
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It has lots of switches and buttons, |
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But I don't know what they do. |
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I know it can't |
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Understand the intricacies of my heart, |
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But when I cuddle up to it |
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It comes to life in my arms. |
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I know that it makes me happy, |
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But something about it frightens me |
