T-1000

An angel stands upon a rose bed
With thorns on each stem
She cries alone
She’s all alone
What is this world coming to
When an angel must cry alone?
Selfish bastards
Have you looked in the mirror?
It’s a terrible sight
In fact, you have broken the mirror
It has torn your face off
You are now a robot
You and the rest of your cooperative pulses
Are run by a machine, eager to earn their keep
Of the innocence stolen from an angel.