Homo Machina - the Future of Human Evolution

grey will not do metallic's justice as silver shows no tempting no, tones will pale into all skins corridor lengths of emptiness seen within computed eyes and nothing the machines do can hold a grace in our hands no metal can truly see art steel ignorance of telling brush strokes what evolution takes from our touch these once bountiful gardens once Eden once Paradise the flowers, such colour is lost the us that defined us make no mistake they can kill in the shallows they can work with no muscle knowing no empathy no mercy they have only coldness a brief of finality leaving us behind in shameful mists any last shred of will to resemble us they are the future of our future and we are them and we, our death