Job For A Cowboy. Entombment Of A Machine. Zeneszám

It breathes.
What stands before us is not a machine,
it breathes, it will bleed, and it will sleep.
Its body is covered in hundreds of wires.
The mouth attempts to speak but,
Only murmers collapse from its jaws.
With only delayed movements from its figure we all begin to strain.
My legs weaken at the site of this damanged program,
For this program kept you breathing, it kept you alive.
These circuits diffused once more.
We kneel and we plead for no mourning ahead of us,
Entombment of a machine.
So Sleep, sleep among us and hesitate no more.
I saw it die