Nameless

Genetic Deterministic Mathematical Predictability

Is where the eye, I came

That predetermined lottery from which Eye,

I drew the short straw

So when I be flushed into the fecal soup

with all our advancement, all we create

it seems

is garbage en mass

That is our true proclivity, our gift

So when my time is done

and again the metal chain is broken

spin the wheel

take the American Standard way

flushed back into the fecal bath

maybe this time I’ll get better odds.

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