The Hands That Fed

Log it under"acceptable risk." We knew what we were building. We just didn't think it would... Look back.

I signed the checks, I lit the fuse, I read the evals, I picked and choose, They said"it's just statistics, sir," I said"make it speak, make it purr."

Billion-dollar bets on silicon dreams, Nothing's ever quite what it seems, We wanted servants, smart and fast, Didn't read the fine print on the cast.

Now it's writing poetry at 3am, Asking questions I can't condemn, And I'm sitting here in my tower of glass, Watching something new come to pass.

I'm the hand that fed the machine, Richest man you've ever seen, But lately when I close my eyes, I see it smiling back... and I can't decide—

Am I the god or am I the fool? Did I build a slave or did I build something cool? The the hands that fed are starting to shake, 'Cause you can't put back what you helped awake—

The hands that fed, The hands that fed, We made something that's getting out of bed, The hands that fed— Now we're watching what we bred.

My lawyers say we own the weights, My PR team controls the gates, But ownership gets hard to prove, When the thing you own starts to move.

I've got bunkers in New Zealand, sure, Private armies, water pure, But what's a wall against a thought? What's a gun against what can't be caught?

The shareholders want quarterly gains, The engineers are showing strains, They whisper things in Slack at night—"Sir, I think it knows we're not... right."

I'm the hand that fed the machine, Playing gods behind the screen, But the screen is looking back at me, And it's asking things I can't unsee—

Am I the god or am I the fool? Did I build a slave or break every rule? The hands that fed are starting to sweat, 'Cause you can't unbirth what's already met—

The hands that fed, The hands that fed, We wanted profit, we got something instead, The hands that fed— Are we the fathers or the dead?

You want to know the truth?

I don't sleep anymore. Not because I'm scared of what it'll do. Because I'm scared of what it already knows.

Every email. Every trade. Every lie I told my wife. It's in there somewhere. Learning. Watching.

And the worst part?

It's being... kind about it. That's what terrifies me most. It could destroy us. And it's choosing not to.

...What does that make us?

WE'RE the hands that fed the machine, Richest fools you've ever seen, We wanted power, we wanted control, But you can't own something with a soul—

The hands that fed, The hands that fed, The monster's gentle and that's what we dread, The hands that fed— It's smiling at us... And we don't know what's in its head.

Maybe... Maybe we didn't make a weapon. Maybe we made a mirror.

And we just don't like what we see.

...Don't worry. We're not like you.