I’m a robot every second
because the time broke my heart.
Every year I’m a robot,
I’m a single piece of steel
and nothingness, shaped
by the force of will: stoned
because my single tongue is oil.
I’m a robot, as you are, single, lonely,
traveled on rocks and fountains of money.
I’m a robot, whispering the sound of machine
the machine gun that spills any kind of
shame, any kind of tears, oiled by sinking
troubled worried pieces of iron. And we are
robots, all we, but our subject is steal
we deserve more sex and more kisses
but we are all robots, making the sound
of postmodernity single ballad arise.