Some people have a feeling they are not like others. Some are not. This man suspects
that he is born without the ability to love, that he can only kill, obey and blow himself to
pieces. No reason why, but a distinct feeling that someone will sooner or later tell him to,
and furthermore that this will not end it, just start the cycle all over again. Was he ever born?

Born and dead, reborn restored
With memories
and thought installed
Designed to live a thousand times,
just waiting her impatiently

I am so confused, my mind seems trapped inside this artificial skin

Why am I
Why am I
Unlike man
Without life
Why am I
Unlike man
Without dreams
I am cold rigid and remote

Flesh and bone close to perfection
without mission no direction

Waiting for your fatal action
Like a tool of mass destruction