A new child is born.
A life is ended.
They control you from above
On their holy network.
They sit in cubicles
Five to a row,
The lord’s heavenly clerks
Chained to their desk eternally.
Your prayers an unkempt pile in their inbox
Your hopes and dreams
Compartmentalized on their hard drive.
And back to the grind,
With one click they ignite war and misery
Or draw your numbers on the lottery.
You might as well yield to the holy technicians
And beware of the recycle bin!