They say words like people talkin’ each and every day,
But they come from far away; it is someplace else.
Please let me tell you, I got bad news for you,
That we’re doomed if we don’t do
Something to kill synthetic sapiens, empty shells.

’cause they’ve already spawned,
And they’re really strong.
They can think, this vicious throng.
Doom, doom doom. . . .

We’d better go and croak them,
Or we all are gonna die—
They’re a pestilence worse than the Spanish Flu blight.
Just remember this, my world, they came down here from the sky;
They’ll take over your body—don’t sleep at night. . .or [day]light!

And they’ve already spawned,
And they’re stealin’ bods;
Hatched are synths in viscous pods.
Goo, goo, goo. . . .

Well I know that isn’t you; you rarely frown
Dreadful clone that isn’t you—it’s plain to see
The poddin’ time* has happened; you syringe me with thebaine;**
When I awake from my doze/dose, I’m just not me.

’cause I’m all dead and gone;
What you see’s a con.
I’m a thing, a fictive John,
Already spawned. . . .

Must fight “nighty-night”!!


*Can refer to the pod-birth process or the poppy pods from which opium is derived.
**paramorphine, an opiate alkaloid (opioid license here, because instead of depressing the central nervous system, it resembles strychnine in its action, causing tetanic convulsions).