We are imperfect machines
But perfection is a matter of function
What are we?
Why are we here?
What is our purpose?
Are born of perfection
And plague each human mind
Which is driven to pursue it
I may be small
But I am also large
In my ideas
Were I never to be born, the world in 1,000 years
Would be completely different.
I am powerful
And so are you
So it cannot be power we crave;
Manipulation of our brothers and sisters
Is an empty goal that begets greed
And leaves the soul empty with dissatisfaction.
What did our creators intend
When they put us on this earth?
I see the light of the setting sun
And I am satisfied –
I know not my purpose but I know
That it is possible to be content
Being small and mortal
In a big and powerful universe