by Nick Gisburne
The blessings of perfection on this place
The bright Electric City, tall and fair
Protect us when that rank, repulsive race
Of skin and sickness passes into air
Without the dank, disgusting, human scourge
The faces of infinity are clear
When science and the Coded Kingdoms merge
Mechanical messiahs must appear
A prophecy proclaims that we must wait
For God, the Great Computer, to return
His Book of Sacred Circuits gives no date
But patience is a trivial concern
We synchronise our silicon and sleep
In readiness for God’s immortal beep
