When will we change, and how can we change who we are?
And stop the testicles of throbbing penises
From raping with horse head force jailhoused anuses?
What madness will finally tell us we've gone too far?
We used to ask where all the florist flowers went,
and associate it with the Stones' "Paint It Black,"
and with war, and high strung out horses wild on crack,
and scream to God and scream, and saw it make no dent.
.
Now I'm at a philosophy conference,
surrounded by nice and thoughtful, caring people.
I remember the kind, me brownbagging Ripple,
living on the street, their thrown kind coin sentiments.
.
Will AI ever become as conscious as us?
Yeah, I pampered myself in nice; enjoyed the buzz.
