Bright, intelligent boxes are chained to our arms
Sounds are forced through our ears
Words are wrung out of us.
Nuclear bombs hang above our hung heads
Guns hang next to our body bags in our closets
But at the same time
Bright, intelligent boxes are at our bidding
Sounds gently caress our awaiting ears
Words pour out of our hearts, thicker than the blood that circulates through them
Nuclear bombs are at our fingertips
And guns are in the hands of our protectors
So tell me, which is it?
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