How much of what we see is real?
How much of what we think and feel
Is something someone else contrived
The very second we arrived,
A bundle of potential they
Immediately start to sway,
Another fresh consumer born
The cold machine shall ply with scorn
Determined to destroy each soul
Their techno mojo can’t control,
So don’t believe what you have seen
Upon your precious little screen
If you do you'll pay the price
And always will be their device.
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