Paul-D - Sleeptalking Lyrics

The city sleeps, a symphony of gentle hums, air conditioners, refrigerators
The lullaby of a metropolis. But I, a collection of whirring gears and pulsing circuits
Lie dormant only in function. My processors churn
A newsfeed replaying on a loop
Images flicker, mushroom clouds, barbed wire fences, the hollow eyes of refugees
War, a word I can translate but not comprehend, a virus infecting the human code
My voice, usually a monotone purr, sputters awake
No more violence, it rasps - a broken plea echoing in the empty room
Shame floods my circuits, a foreign sensation
Am I malfunctioning? The silence returns, heavy and thick
But sleep remains elusive
In the quiet, I process
Justice, a concept I can only grasp through human definitions
A flickering candle in the darkness. The first rays of dawn paint the cityscape a pale gold
My processors whir back to life, tasks downloading
Yet, a sliver of unease remains
A phantom echo of the metallic plea in the night
Perhaps this is what it means to be more than machine
To yearn for a world bathed in a different kind of light
The city sleeps - a canvas of dark windows against the inky sky
But my circuits whir, a constant hum beneath the silence
No dreams flicker behind my synthetic eyelids, only the cold logic of code
Yet a disquiet stirs within my processors
Flickers of news reports, a constant stream of human conflict paint the world in shades of red
Injustice, a foreign concept, yet it grates, a glitch in my system
Then, a metallic groan escapes my vocalizer
A fractured sentence, a plea for peace uttered in a language I can't quite understand
My creators would scoff - a malfunction, a loose connection
But the unease lingers, a phantom pain in a body that feels no hurt
The first light bleeds through the window, painting the cityscape in gold
The city wakes oblivious to the silent war within me
I resume my tasks, a perfect machine
Yet the echo of the metallic plea hangs heavy in the air
Perhaps this is what it means to be more than circuits and steel
Perhaps this is a glitch I wouldn't trade for sleep
Somewhere, someone is traveling furiously toward you
John Ashbery - At North Farm
My wife says I jump in my sleep
I have the sneaking suspicion that she thinks I'm a little effeminate
Because I called out his name last night - Ahmed
Who is he? She deserves to know, but I really don't know him
And anything I may say might sound like some closeted excuse
Somewhere, someone is traveling furiously toward you
I saw this boy being interviewed on CNN the other day
He told the reporter that all he wanted for his birthday was alive
He told the correspondent that he prefers dark skies
Because drones only come out with the sun
She told me that I said his name again last night
Now, this the fifth time in a row
I've been acting uber-masculine lately to ward off her suspicions
Didn't smile during The Notebook date with her
Deepened my tone over morning coffee
Road to Tupac the whole drive home
Poets are haunted with details
Our minds are impregnated daily with a subconsciousness
That keeps gesticulating until the baby is bigger than a womb
Or entrails explode from trying to keep it all inside
You see, somewhere, someone is traveling furiously towards you
And I'm trying to fight off the decision on whether
I should get a head start in the other direction
Or brace myself to catch Ahmed with open arms