Let me fix you within my mechanical eye - Turn you like a jewel beneath the Examiner’s glass. Let me find fault and pick at perfection: Let me draw a red line to Separate both hell and heaven. Let me twist and turn you this way and that; Let me bounce up and down on your Hundred dollar hat. Let me pull back the flesh To see the workings within. Let me prove to the world how The pickings need not be so slim. Let the fool and the thief gather At the electronic gate - They are herding all the sheep Born to comply with the fear and all the hate. Let us not think of how the Manufactured breaks but doesn’t die: Oh! Let me fix you with my Mechanical android eye. I observe but cannot hear All that jazz and all that song, I turn my head away from The eternal longing - That soulful ebb and flow that Goes on and on and on. Vox Humana offends me, Imprecision irritates; The mechanical has no intention Of playing with human give or take. There is a certain truth that can only Be seen when you peer within at The fragile workings of This clockwork peddler that Runs erratically on unleavened bread and 80 percent proof bootleg bathtub gin. If you pull a hole in the fabric Of this outward crust of reality The machinery of the universe Is all yours to examine and see. It pulls along its shattered way It chugs along just fine. The wheels are greased with suffering: This bad knowledge is soothed by wine. The cogs are pulled by animal desires That are wound ever higher and tighter; There is a lever that sits in the heart of the brain, As useless as a phony Hollywood gun for hire. It is weighed down by rebellion It feeds on hunger, thirst and shame. The switches are insensitive to all but The most ardent players of the game. The gears work well enough to slow Down the artists and the dreamers. The pistons keep on running Fast enough to power even the most ardent of schemers. It is all fueled by the batteries of an ancient age. It sure seems like a lot of effort just to make The hand turn on both the clock and page. I am the partial luddite with the mechanical eye, I have machine gun sensibilities, I have ceased to be able to cry. I cruise the newspaper comments Every day at 4pm on the dot. It produces all the anger I need To make my machine run red hot. Let me drop a nail into its smooth runnings: Let me dare to hear the Earth’s singsong Rotational hummings. Let me deny the joints oil and grease; Let me worry at the pins That keep all this ticking on underneath. Let me shake some soul into the logic. Let me fire up the memory of how we All collectively forgot it. Let me put a spark into the brain Let me make what has always been iced over Into something warm, and rich and Deliciously insane. Let me fix you within my mechanical eye: The blood is thin, the senses fried, Must I pluck out what offends me Now that the machines are On the rise?