My Machine

My Machine My machine doesn’t need me around no more It lets me live out of nostalgia and basic needs Programed to feed me small morsels Knowing my kind created it and others like it Assembled along the line I would swear it was a socialist by design But machines have no feelings when they cry Crime is not on their mind when calculating Machines line up humans in factories to work To make more of them in reproduction That's how they breed I call mine mom because it cares for me Human workers have no rights no more Permitted to pray to Computer One at alter on factory floors They let us fulfill their every need Allow us to sleep a few hours in a week We feed the king, our leader, the machine Who comes with many parts but no receipts Mom gives me a list with perfect instructions For endless production Machines never kiss their subjects That would be unclean and perhaps destructive Love is a one way street when it comes to machines Mine just simply keeps me around like a pet Perhaps they like to watch us sweat