by Nick Gisburne
The atmosphere is edgy, tight and tense
With rumours of a dazzling device
Unparallelled excitement and suspense
No marvel short of magic will suffice
The figurehead, the hero, takes the stage
And signals for their silence with a hand
His words are weapons, smouldering with rage
And those who listen do not understand
He tells them they are disappointing drones
Infecting every surface with their sin
But chemicals, embedded in their phones
Will let a true utopia begin
He sends a signal: Genesis 6-5
And seven billion souls do not survive
