With the fact that we’re programmed?

We wake in the morning, the fingers of your hand:

The feeds are all there, the feeds are all now,

If it’s greatness you want, to Nature you must bow.

The sound of the ping

The buzz of the phone

The plug with the light

The drug with a home.

It sits in your hands

And travels at your hip

If we give them too much power

Our minds will take the hit.