| I made a machine
|
| Called the boy least likely to
|
| It feeds me shortbread biscuits and it
|
| Makes my little dreams come true
|
| It thinks for me
|
| And everything I used to do it does for me
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| It’s made of aluminium
|
| And it runs off pencil batteries
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| I know that it makes me happy
|
| But something about it frightens me
|
| I made a machine
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| To make my life easier
|
| But it’s made it more complicated
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| Than it ever was before
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| I programmed it
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| To simulate the feelings that I used to get
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| It reads me bedtime stories and it
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| Makes me feel human again
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| It doesn’t hurt to understand
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| What it’s doing; |
| and it does everything
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| A human being can
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| It stores my thoughts and feelings
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| In its data banks
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| I tell it things when I’m feeling sad
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| Sometimes it’s the only
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| Real friend that I have
|
| And that’s what makes me sad
|
| I made a machine
|
| Called the boy least likely to
|
| It has lots of switches and buttons
|
| But I don’t know what they do
|
| I know it can’t
|
| Understand the intricacies of my heart
|
| But when I cuddle up to it
|
| It comes to life in my arms
|
| I know that it makes me happy
|
| But something about it frightens me |