THE COMPUTERS

Written by: George Zamalea

All are fastest for best or worse,
	Working in those spaces of speed;
Some with useless massive numbers
	And with quarrel force in its own,
Some with explosive greatest of beauty
	Uncontrollable, more or less.

For a world that we created,
	Time proclaims with fashion
To be hatched at last; not the real yield
	Of clean remain such incomplete
Fantasy of unfledged control, we are still
	Babysitters of what we are dreaming.

Truly it shapes our life and death;
	Leave no alternative with filled with speed,
Think to destroy this costly monster
	Of lazy for what is manhood, for the good purpose
All time will be breaking free;
	Ah, beware, let us pray.

Let us do our age, and what you done
	Of yours, as the list of electric device;
Mind it's closer than the structure of true
	For what we build where you cannot hold
Or win the gap of Speed were a sordid passion
	With hope and joy, the fall of all.