Buzzard - Doom Folk - 10 Necro Tech

Here comes the future. You know what’s next. The dark age of necro tech. Microchips in a dying brain Electrify and rearrange. Genetic tools revive the dead To float in space or dream in bed Without a care in the world. No woman, man, boy, or girl Biodegrades or disappears. Grins last a billion years. Tombs turn into labs. Cadavers sit up on their slabs. Circuit boards in their skulls, Decapitated kings evolve. Cybernetic chromosomes Control a walking pile of bones. So alone. Newborn babies get put down To be uploaded to the cloud Where they enjoy their mother’s kiss In virtual eternal bliss. The crime of suicide gets worse, For every death must be reversed. Chained to their immortal coil, Poets locked in prison toil. So alone. Prometheus was analog. Necro tech’s the computer god Reanimating DNA Until a godless Judgment Day When finally the sun explodes. Trillions of terabytes of data load To cosmic rays and fill the void With simulated joy. So alone.