I walk through corridors of conduits and cables. I sustain myself from signals fed into my throat. I fill thirst with ion shots.

The flesh that's left, among latex vein-works, Burns away with each flash of the clock's pulse. My mind recieves a blue lit scene, Though my eyes have died by surgeon's scheme.

My skins been grafted with panels of vinyl. My nerves are wrought of glassy fibers.

The body was my greatest fault And now I am a perfect thought.

I am the futures leading, Brought by mankind's darkened dreaming. I am the artificial.

I am the mechanist.