So far we've been collecting all the buzzes and experiences,
And never really craned at the eerie coulds of consequences.
Had we have done it well?
Circumstances gainsay.

In our quest finding our own supposed benediction,
We've just pushed too many dominoes, without any suspicion.
Now we take part creating this machine,
Yet our sincere intentions remain unseen.

All of our opportunistic actions.
All of our obligate motions.

Life's overcrowding
Us, while we're
Losing parts of ourselves.
Nothing to gain,
Our mind's confused
When this outside world repels.

Beyond this level
We do nothing,
But feeding this mechanism's subsistence.
With baby slivers
Of our own overrated,
Pathetic, overtaxed existence.

Trapped in dimension...
Numb of isolation...
Overcrowded with lives...
Of an alien person...