Phones and cameras merge into one

   Internet completes handheld menage a trois

   Miracles and magic twist in the fist,

   yet we strive to compact connections further

   Palm of hand will not remain pilot

   once implant can access our ever-shrinking world

   We shall fuse mind with microtechnology

   Slip a chip between logic and dreams

   Our own thoughts, when deemed a virus,

   will be re-encoded by swift data streams

   We shall smile with Stepford precision

   once they’ve erased concept of submission

   Satellites gossip and sing

   Streaking angels of the modern age,

   beckoning us to accept

   corporate propaganda

   which proclaims the net shall save our souls,

   once they’ve created a virtual heaven

   We disconnect ourselves from moral motherboard,

   from ethics our Lord compels us to maintain

   Perhaps 666 will be the area code

   allotted those with microsoftened brain

  c) C.Butler 2004