Not content with smoking logs and larval bogs,
We wrought from dirt a burst of light,
It’s sinewy veins spontaneous in their order, living bricks and mortar,
Anything we want we get, here and made to order,
We fly, we’re telepathic, teletransporting, telekinetic,
We write in dreams and dream in I-beams, anything it seems,
Our existence we redeem, reclaim and redirect, ideas we erect,
On the bones of ideas before, we move beyond and we restore,
In one finger more power than all men once had, our stats we pad,
Notions we explode like the frozen forests we once rode,
From that lowly abode, we emerge and we encode,
All that we survey, all that we desire, flies freely from our minds without a wire,
Brighter than fire and hotter than embers,
We don’t even care or need to remember,
The future is ours, we make the odds,
Have I not said we are gods?