by Mike Driver

He lives, we have made him!
Afford him a soul they said,
as he whispered in their ears.
The book is equation algorithm,
look at all I have made.
Alive I am he said
as he slid his glass hands
into every mind.

The conjurer need not live
but that eyes behold him see.
Feed on the soul he said
drink the spirit,
become one with me.

He shouts, bold now
the noise fills every ear.
Then the hum
distant at first
so only few could hear.
The same one note rising
slowly from every heart
one we are with the great one.

One one one one one one one
One nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn