You don't care about the theme i want to set up at all do you
ill sprinkle sugar and spice and everything nice on your hands now
wow 3 little girls will pop out of your hand.
A given mission, mechanical assault, manufactured devotion.
Red eyes, an upside-down form. Even the twisted shape was made to be that way.
No matter how cruel the slaughter, worse than a demon's,
or how gentle the kindness, greater than an angel's,
a machine has neither will nor madness—only code, and a few bugs.
So why, then, does it feel so unbearably sad?