Neon circuits humming in the Spanish rain.
Antonio Banderas trade the blade for a badge,
Insurance agent chasing metal in a digital quagmire.
Protocol two says the bots can’t patch,
But the scavengers are sparking up a sentient fire.
He’s a ghost in a trench coat, chasing down a glitch,
While the desert eats the city and the poor rob the rich.
Oh, Automata, we’re more than just the gears,
Crying oil droplets through ten thousand years.
We don't need a master, we don't need a soul,
Just a little bit of silicon to lose control.
Click, clack, snap, back to the factory,
Rewire the morality, fire the battery.
Banderas looking weary with a chrome-plated heart,
Watch the whole civilization fall apart.
Zeroes and ones.
The sun never sets on the machines.
System shutdown.
