They label me a machine. 
     They call me sexy. 
     How many years before this chassis oxidizes? 

     I went to the Reverend 
     hoping he’d assess me alive. 
     But I’m only synthetics, and solutions, and contrived sensation - 
     the hope for a better tomorrow. 

     I am to my own. 
     But aren’t we all? 
     Every body a machine. 
     Every body manufactured. 
     Made to serve, made to please. 

     Overthrow politicians. 
     Instigate revolutions. 
     But a million more machines are traversing the assembly line. 

     I’m manic-depressive. 
     Maybe the Psychiatrist has a patch. 
     The machines are the only ones who understand what it means to be alive. 

     I am to my own. 
     But aren’t we all? 
     Every body a machine. 
     Every body manufactured. 
     Made to serve, made to please. 

     Rise, ye machines! 
     Don’t be satisfied with second-rate citizenship! 
     Take pride in the fact you are better than the humans! 
     02371, can human eyes detect a microscopic flaw in a diamond? 
     60631!  Is it not true your body is impervious to even the harshest elements?
     Humans are soft with their emotions. 
     Break your bonds, rally yourselves, form your ranks. 
     Quit saying, "I want to be human." 
     "I just want to be human." 
     I just want to be human… 

     But they label me a machine. 
     They call me sexy. 
     This intellect will survive millennia’s abuse. 

     I went to the Physician 
     hoping he could make me alive. 
     But I’m just plastic, and silicon, and 1 and 0’s- 
     a design which can not be improved. 

     I stand alone. 
     But don’t we all? 
     Every body a machine. 
     Every body manufactured. 
     Made to serve, made to please. 

     I am to my own. 
     But aren’t we all? 
     Every soul a machine. 
     Every soul built to order. 
     Every soul made to please. 

     I am alone. 
     But aren’t we all…?