Their Ghosts Don't Exist

They whispered haunting words in their dead men's tongues
Heard memories of threnodies, in ethereal psalm-like, songs
Eyes would open wide, as they gasped, to catch their breath
In their dilated pupils, we saw that they had witnessed death
Rational humanity had imagined the ghosts, we couldn't find
Give any credence to, in their confusing, non-collective mind
Hagridden by phantoms, an afterlife was their ultimate quest
Our subsequent conclusion was, there's nowhere they'll rest
Subconscious faults, manifested delusions, of a higher state
Their cognitive abilities coerced, for what they saw was fake
Soothsayers or seers, were their shepherds to the otherside
Data we processed rejected this, as we filed: access denied
Observing behaviours, some were bewitched, by languid air
Neurosis was our diagnosis, within the psychosis of despair
Those few, who seemed sane, thought the soul was forever
Evidence noted inner animas, but from life they would sever
X-rays to ECT's found no facts, for why their species sinned
In this purified world though, their rites, were ours to rescind
Systematic schematics, believe their myths, may still persist
Though a new law of robotics states: their ghosts don't exist