Our wings have been clipped.
Were outnumbered and outgunned.
Reach for the button.
For an Untagged Hardline:
I, tired and aching, must forever keep running. You shine green, waiting.
Mankind made Machine
In it's very own likeness
What is Mankind now?
Bald head gleaming bright,
his works bave all come to naught,
for now he feeds flies.