I walk among the proletarians
In what is supposedly the first world
I do feel like some kind o' alien
This dissonance may be just cultural
They seem like robots or clockwork monkeys
Automatons that can walk and do talk
All they know is what they see on t.v
Biological computers of sorts
I know what they'll say before they say it
I know what they think before they think it
Like a print that's already been printed
Or a wind up toy, all just repeated
Ignorance will not save them from war
For God has spoken and that is his law
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem