Miles and miles of wire make up it's soul,
A pinnacle of man, technology achieving it's goal.
A new living being acquired a will of it's own,
The beast we have nurtured is reaping just what Man has sown.
 
*Chorus*:
Arm, load, aim, fire!
Arm, load, aim, fire!
Arm, load, aim, fire!
FIRE!
 
Wire, circuits, transistors, say we've ben attacked.
Wire, circuits, transistors are all that react.
There is no hoope, there's no turning back,
When the computer decides unknown track.
 
*Chorus*

Machine void of morality,
A mind creates reality.
Machine decides what is done,
To it, it's just another program to run.
 
Fail-fail-fail-fail

 e found, made it your own battleground.
Pretty, pretty don't you please, don't you fuckin' look at me.
You know that I am...
On