#92: U Can Be Us With A Little "S" (Peers)
You Don't Want To Be A Sucker . . .
Party-Pooper, Duty-Ducker . . .
You Might Even Be A Fucker,
Given Half A Chance!
Hell With Chickens, Let 'Em Clucker,
This Group's Got The Jive And Shucker . . .
When You Wear Our Bib And Tucker . . .
You'll Be Cooler At The Dance . . .
And We'll Know You At A Glance.
And then from there we traveled on
an uninspiring pike,
where rows of robots stood and went
through actions all alike.
Once in a while, some new guy
would come to join the crowd.
He'd start out with a different style,
but soon they all cow-towed.
At first we didn't pick up on
the fact that every one
was acting just like all the rest . . .
all clone programs run.
As I recall, we watched awhile.
There never came a time
when either Jo or I felt weird,
or somewhat out of line.
And almost like awakening from
a dreamless kind of sleep,
we both woke up to hear the Voice
describing us as sheep.
"You boys have had your lucky days,
and those have served you well.
This time, you nearly lost yourselves
to some ignoble hell.
That's right, this State is that of Peers,
and though it lets you fall
to dreamy comforts, you would find
there's no escape at all.
The travelers who have shown up here,
and failed to come prepared,
are still out there in robot suits,
dead, but always scared.
They join into the crowd that looks
as if it knows its way.
Before they have a chance to go,
they find they have to stay.
It's like electric networks of
computers, only flesh.
They capture new arrivals, and
encase them in the mesh.
Arrivals seem to always seek
acceptance of the group.
If only they perceived the need
that bubbles in that troop.
But seeking to belong so bad,
before they feel their chains,
they're eager to entwine themselves,
and offer up their brains."
The Voice went on about that State,
and all of it made sense,
but Jo and I still felt alone,
and just a little tense . . .
as we got in the Buggy, and
prepared to leave that place.
And I remember looking back
and seeing my own face.
Party-Pooper, Duty-Ducker . . .
You Might Even Be A Fucker,
Given Half A Chance!
Hell With Chickens, Let 'Em Clucker,
This Group's Got The Jive And Shucker . . .
When You Wear Our Bib And Tucker . . .
You'll Be Cooler At The Dance . . .
And We'll Know You At A Glance.
And then from there we traveled on
an uninspiring pike,
where rows of robots stood and went
through actions all alike.
Once in a while, some new guy
would come to join the crowd.
He'd start out with a different style,
but soon they all cow-towed.
At first we didn't pick up on
the fact that every one
was acting just like all the rest . . .
all clone programs run.
As I recall, we watched awhile.
There never came a time
when either Jo or I felt weird,
or somewhat out of line.
And almost like awakening from
a dreamless kind of sleep,
we both woke up to hear the Voice
describing us as sheep.
"You boys have had your lucky days,
and those have served you well.
This time, you nearly lost yourselves
to some ignoble hell.
That's right, this State is that of Peers,
and though it lets you fall
to dreamy comforts, you would find
there's no escape at all.
The travelers who have shown up here,
and failed to come prepared,
are still out there in robot suits,
dead, but always scared.
They join into the crowd that looks
as if it knows its way.
Before they have a chance to go,
they find they have to stay.
It's like electric networks of
computers, only flesh.
They capture new arrivals, and
encase them in the mesh.
Arrivals seem to always seek
acceptance of the group.
If only they perceived the need
that bubbles in that troop.
But seeking to belong so bad,
before they feel their chains,
they're eager to entwine themselves,
and offer up their brains."
The Voice went on about that State,
and all of it made sense,
but Jo and I still felt alone,
and just a little tense . . .
as we got in the Buggy, and
prepared to leave that place.
And I remember looking back
and seeing my own face.
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