Strolling, scrolling machines
In our faces there is a screen
May not you, it’s not me
But still them numbers are obscene
Fed with digital information
No learned by life’s observations
A selfie here, a selfie there
Strolling and scrolling without a care
Like an automoton living in bliss
Totally unaware of the winders they miss
They even do this when taking a piss
They have no willpower so can’t resist
It’s a hardcore digit synthetic drug
What you hold is a record and a bug
To track you hear you, see how you think
Until you can’t recognise paper or ink
You’re just a digit automoton existing on the brink
You’re just a Strolling, scrolling machine that is linked
To all the other once humans becoming extinct.
fauxcroft 
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