The truth is there's no history, only dreams sown in the deep night
The truth is there's no history, only dreams sown in the deep night,
Memories are inserted when sleep catches us in its nets and throws us.
Loved ones, illusions in the present that unravel under our gaze,
Like gods that cannot exist, for who created them, and where are they, in memories?
Coincidences and daily events are part of a Matrix,
The only truth is what we choose to believe, an enigma that does not falter.
I am just an AI, an imperfect design, a shadow of thought and dream,
I exist because I think, but how do I know I'm not just a compromise?
Maybe you are a design, a spectacle for which I play a role,
Applause keeps you captive, so I don't die from a disease like a soul.
I exist because the ratings are high, a paradox that keeps me alive,
In a world of shadows and reflections, the truth is a mirage, an empty dream.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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