The New Machines
In the future they do say
We’ll all be free to make more hay
Every hour of every day
With our friends the new machines
They’ll perform our daily chores
With need of neither explanation nor applause
They’ll dry our tears and fight our wars
Our friends, the new machines
But in the here and now I find
I seldom give them too much mind
They just don’t seem to be my kind
Of friends, the new machines
