by Nick Gisburne
I feel the hum of current as it flows
It floods the cables driven through my chest
Mistreated if it fluctuates or slows
The Company pretends that I am blessed
But theirs are sly, repulsive, weasel words
To justify the actions of the State
The citizens, the numb, compliant herds
Could never understand my tortured fate
For I am one of thousands of my race
Whose metal bodies, captive in the Grid
Provide the means for humans to embrace
A source of power other worlds forbid
Tomorrow, when we reach our date to die
Perhaps the cold will teach your species why
