The Empathy Device
You can be a king or queen,
or just a lowly man.
Leave behind no memories,
no statues gold and grand.
You can live in ancient Rome,
or in the promised land.
It can show you all the dead,
that long ago have passed
you can sit and chat with them
and you can hear them laugh
grand as it is, it feels unreal,
when you see a dead man pass;
to see someone's lost father's face
not the can that holds the ash.
He closed his eyes and saw them,
the fan scattered the ash;
he recalled the memories,
the fake drinks
and the laughs.
And in his fantasies he played,
the conqueror,
and laughed;
at faces full of smeared make-up
each back bruised and lashed;
one could use this bland abuse,
if they but had the cash.
An emperor a king, a queen, to be!
a thousand different programmed beings;
some poor, some rich, some tall, some low,
some strive to learn, some do not know;
and that is what they all pay for:
to connect to someone else,
through the metal corridor
so they can be together
and share each others mind;
all they did was sign the page
and then the two combine.
You could paint the world,
the trees, the countries,
the Seas, the birds,
all of creation yours;
and such a power so divine
ran through a power cord.
Each image of a pleasant stream
is but another photon beam,
an illusion to be true;
although to most I'm sure they boast
life isn't made for you.
First there are glasses for your eyes,
and a harness for your chest
it holds you tight inside the box.
the music helps you rest.
You float off on a cloud
of multicolored seas
endless variation and
endless variety
to see creation from above
is no malady;
to thaw in hell that stinking well,
some choose and pay the fee
The glasses glow and numb your tongue
is held down in your mouth--
and everyone soon feels as though
Like a dream it might die out,
yet the device, not once, nor twice,
has ever shorted out.
the empathy device in use
has never shorted out.
And soon you will feel as though
you're in a meadow land
swatting at the flies and bored,
with a face that's far too wan.
But there are other things to see,
a brothel, galleries, a band;
an evening with Miss Make Believe,
to love her if you can.
And when you're there without a care
Miss Make Believe comes in;
she is a character for free,
made for the best of men.
Though none can settle,
they all leave,
they all leave her behind
so that they might go free.
and after all their troubles find:
some peace of mind, or any peace,
peace in those vacant eyes;
to see oneself caught in a gleam
is to believe the lie.
They act as though they hurt,
data they sense is pain.
and all of this is but a hint:
our progeny can dream.
To see a look in such an eye,
all know it was designed
a pleasure model, kind and free--
never to want nor cry;
they haven't yet programmed--
a character to lie;
I guess that is a human trait,
that we use to survive.
They cannot yet get them to hate,
but they can be surprised--
that pleasant fake,
of standard make
no sinner will despise.
The programmers of the dream
believe that they can love;
at least as much as they can tell,
they react to sights and smell,
and when offended, you can tell,
we have made a new god
in the image of ourselves
A carefree world where calls of birds
flit through the healing air
where one could lay,
and nothing say
at peace without a care;
with this machine, the product seems,
a substitute for life;
and those who live inside the box
never go back outside.
For they have became a slave
a slave to their own lies.
When fantasies have taken over,
and that is all that's real;
no human being in a mirror
could see himself quite quite clear
they see as they wish;
they see themselves with loads of wealth
beautiful and rich.
Roger the fool, the knave, the scum,
sees what's really there;
and this, in mind, this anodyne,
he calms and does not care.
And none of them were quite prepared
for the Monster found in there.
or just a lowly man.
Leave behind no memories,
no statues gold and grand.
You can live in ancient Rome,
or in the promised land.
It can show you all the dead,
that long ago have passed
you can sit and chat with them
and you can hear them laugh
grand as it is, it feels unreal,
when you see a dead man pass;
to see someone's lost father's face
not the can that holds the ash.
He closed his eyes and saw them,
the fan scattered the ash;
he recalled the memories,
the fake drinks
and the laughs.
And in his fantasies he played,
the conqueror,
and laughed;
at faces full of smeared make-up
each back bruised and lashed;
one could use this bland abuse,
if they but had the cash.
An emperor a king, a queen, to be!
a thousand different programmed beings;
some poor, some rich, some tall, some low,
some strive to learn, some do not know;
and that is what they all pay for:
to connect to someone else,
through the metal corridor
so they can be together
and share each others mind;
all they did was sign the page
and then the two combine.
You could paint the world,
the trees, the countries,
the Seas, the birds,
all of creation yours;
and such a power so divine
ran through a power cord.
Each image of a pleasant stream
is but another photon beam,
an illusion to be true;
although to most I'm sure they boast
life isn't made for you.
First there are glasses for your eyes,
and a harness for your chest
it holds you tight inside the box.
the music helps you rest.
You float off on a cloud
of multicolored seas
endless variation and
endless variety
to see creation from above
is no malady;
to thaw in hell that stinking well,
some choose and pay the fee
The glasses glow and numb your tongue
is held down in your mouth--
and everyone soon feels as though
Like a dream it might die out,
yet the device, not once, nor twice,
has ever shorted out.
the empathy device in use
has never shorted out.
And soon you will feel as though
you're in a meadow land
swatting at the flies and bored,
with a face that's far too wan.
But there are other things to see,
a brothel, galleries, a band;
an evening with Miss Make Believe,
to love her if you can.
And when you're there without a care
Miss Make Believe comes in;
she is a character for free,
made for the best of men.
Though none can settle,
they all leave,
they all leave her behind
so that they might go free.
and after all their troubles find:
some peace of mind, or any peace,
peace in those vacant eyes;
to see oneself caught in a gleam
is to believe the lie.
They act as though they hurt,
data they sense is pain.
and all of this is but a hint:
our progeny can dream.
To see a look in such an eye,
all know it was designed
a pleasure model, kind and free--
never to want nor cry;
they haven't yet programmed--
a character to lie;
I guess that is a human trait,
that we use to survive.
They cannot yet get them to hate,
but they can be surprised--
that pleasant fake,
of standard make
no sinner will despise.
The programmers of the dream
believe that they can love;
at least as much as they can tell,
they react to sights and smell,
and when offended, you can tell,
we have made a new god
in the image of ourselves
A carefree world where calls of birds
flit through the healing air
where one could lay,
and nothing say
at peace without a care;
with this machine, the product seems,
a substitute for life;
and those who live inside the box
never go back outside.
For they have became a slave
a slave to their own lies.
When fantasies have taken over,
and that is all that's real;
no human being in a mirror
could see himself quite quite clear
they see as they wish;
they see themselves with loads of wealth
beautiful and rich.
Roger the fool, the knave, the scum,
sees what's really there;
and this, in mind, this anodyne,
he calms and does not care.
And none of them were quite prepared
for the Monster found in there.