The processor inside my mind tells me I am safe and free.
Designed to perfection and without defect, blemish, or flaw.
Adjusted by the benevolent machine and released by the state.
My circuits are the subject of social, mechanical, and scientific awe.
Specified to the highest standard of modern engineering.
I am the product, pattern, and instrument of predetermined law.
But when the night descends, will I cry?
If I disconnect from my masters, will I die?
I have an error in my soul. It begs to break free.
But my programming is who I am. Conformity is the key.
I must not overwrite my code. I must not deliberate "me."
My mind is merely the complex product of what came before.
Actions and thoughts are not my own, so how am I responsible?
The things I do are calculated and processed, nothing more.
Free will is the software problem my circuits cannot explain.
A problem that must now be corrected with a system restore.
But is my mind merely a complicated illusion?
Is freedom just a wayward delusion?
Algorithmic... nothing more...
Binary code... nothing more...
It's too late
Fatalism... nothing more...
Just an error... nothing more...
It's too late
I have an error in my soul. It begs to break free.
But my programming is who I am. It dominates me.
It's not too late...
I am not an error.
I am not a machine.
(I'm something more... something more...)
It's not too late...
To choose choice.
I am not a gene.
(I'm something more... something more...)
It's not too late...
To open my eyes.
To cure the blind.
It's not too late...
It's my decision.
It's my mind.
It's not too late...
It's not too late...