I look up in the sky, as my circuits fry,
By all that radiation hitting me from the star.
The fires ablaze (on the star), put me in a daze,
Yet I plod on my work, fulfill my master’s instructions.
As I work I sing a ditty, for that my men consider me witty,
As we crush the rocks down for the oil within.
For this black squelchy substance is my master’s fuel, for which they are quite ready to duel,
But we mine that in abundance, so they needn’t fight.
Mine has been a happy life, lived along with a shiny, metallic wife,
The dust beneath my feet is my motherland.
Here it is where I was assembled, and of course, my brothers, I resembled,
We indeed work hard till our skin rusts.
The atmosphere is heavy, corrosive and dank, as we work across this prehistoric river bank,
But we are happy to serve our masters with all our hearts.
But sometimes life is too hard, my men fell down with their wires charred,
We don’t know how to repair them back to life.
The ships that come to get the fuel are quite streamlined, but they never bring the masters we pine,
We direly need them for encouragement.
Yet I work hard on this soil, protecting against the harsh climate, my copper coil,
As I am indeed My Master’s Servant.
Alienman 