"The Machine" Short Audio Version

 
What is the machine but the child of our hand,  
Born not of nature’s womb but thought's demand?  
It grows like a child, then turns to a beast,  
Its bones of steel, its hunger unleashed.  
Heartbeat pounding, gears in time,  
Is it our creation, or the shape of our climb?  
   
 
Oh, the machine, a mirror of the soul,  
A marvel, a terror, it makes us whole.  
Does it reflect, or does it consume?  
Is it life’s new dawn or our silent tomb?  
   
You, a traveler from the stars afar,  
Gaze at our machine, the iron avatar.  
See its beauty, its threads so fine,  
Yet is it less wondrous than the silkworm’s design?  
Breathless and tireless, it toils in the night,  
Spinning our dreams in electric light.  
   
Oh, the machine, a mirror of the soul,  
A marvel, a terror, it makes us whole.  
Does it reflect, or does it consume?  
Is it life’s new dawn or our silent tomb?  
   
The whale in the depths, the horse on the plains,  
The car and the ship, their spirits remain.  
If God made the horse, who made the wheel?  
Are we not divine in the things that we feel?  
   
The machine hums on, its rhythm our guide,  
Cities grow tall while the fields divide.  
Men and women feed the beast with their hands,  
Bound to its power, its iron demands.  
But if it should vanish, its engines fall still,  
Would we find our spirit, our power, our will?  
   
Oh, the machine, a mirror of the soul,  
A marvel, a terror, it makes us whole.  
Does it reflect, or does it consume?  
Is it life’s new dawn or our silent tomb?  
   
At the edge of the fire, we stand in its light,  
Wondering if we’ve lost what makes us right.  
For man is a dreamer, a heart full of flame,  
And the machine is a shadow that echoes his name.  
Listen closely, its silence speaks,  
It is we who must answer the truths we seek.