Book Of Bot - The Locust
He's a wretch and
Like all the rest he thinks
There's time to make trouble
And time to make a mess
He says
Punch in automate
Stomp on stomp out
Mechanized and traumatized
He's tapping things obsessively
Finds his boss's office
And tears it apart
Torches the evidence
Quits his job
Voltage highways
Currents moving constantly
Blissed out and circuit bent
He's summoned by his majesty
Anxious electric
Taps into the registry
A challenge to the monolith
The obelisk is posturing
Sleeping monsters rise
Manichaean disguise
Ransacks Junktown
Glass-eyed ogre
Builds himself and armory
Lives like a hammer
A vulgar diplomacy
A new kind of prophet
A new kind of tyranny
New kind of trauma
A new aristocracy
Finds every flaw in the eyes of his enemies
Wages war and flies his flag
Prelude to the coming of
A new machine metropolis
