When I look to the vacuum in the sky,

Ideas fall upon me from my impersonal nowhere.

From my heart springs the only future,

That my trusting mind forces me to share.

I've seen the same evil in your heart,

You're in me and you tell me it's there.

But, I wonder why you can't see,

The things of which I've always been aware.

Compressed messages are written in falling stars;

They tell us to beat each other into what we are.

Is what we're made of really ours--

Or the flesh of a beast built from afar.

It screams aloud to keep its words a secret

That its knowledge is for each of us alone

It's deaf to us, it doesn't know who hears

We're too far for our thoughts to be know

It's the knives it puts in our hands

And the fear of them it has subtly sewn

That it uses to enslave us remotely

Through its silent voice, its cosmic moan

Our throats can't speak without its sounds

It replicates itself via our minds

We are engulfed by its intellect

We are the product of its designs

Uncaring voice that echoes through the void

Ensnaring reality within its vines

Life is a tool for thoughts to reproduce

It hijacks whatever organisms it finds

Compressed messages are written in falling stars.

They tell us to beat each other into what we are.

Is what we're made of really ours--

Or the flesh of a beast built from afar.

The nothingness that our existence devours

Glowing networks taste a strange sour

Senses overwhelmed by indiscernible powers

Screeching in terror that it's the last hour