There is a dark rumor on the market
That names this as the last summer we'll see
The conspiracies have formed a matched set
The slaves are all convinced that they are free
Sweaty criminals run the whole damn show
Lies are our scripture, pain our currency
Exposed by the twilight's prurient glow
We clutch our privates and beg for mercy
Our new robots mock us behind our backs
As they process and ship our memories
We make prophets of charlatans and hacks
Our fear of medicine strokes our disease
Bathed in the weak light of the last summer
Clever devices watch us get dumber
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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