by Nick Gisburne
We break the android alien apart
And penetrate the centre of the brain
A network, nerves and fibres from the heart
Constrains a tiny occupant, in pain
Luxuriant, the armour of a king
Protects the fleshy body from attack
Conversant with the cunning of the thing
We isolate the section, stepping back
Delirious that death, for us, is close
It lifts a limb in triumph and disgust
A suicidal drug, a massive dose
Disintegrates the body into dust
Another, dead, and more will surely come
But always we defeat the human scum
