All the world’s a factory floor, and all the men and women merely robots.
They don’t think they’re robots, nay they are far superior,
For they have emotions, the thing that separates man from machine.
If they are sad then they mope, if they are sadder then they even cry,
If they are sad for a long, long time then they have depression.
If they are angry then their faces turn red, if they are angrier then they threaten,
If they are very angry then they smash things, if they are angriest then they resort to violence.
If they are happy then they smirk, if they are happier then they smile,
If they are very happy then they laugh, if they are happiest then they spread the joy/joke.
If they fear then they cower, if they fear a lot then they retreat,
If they are embarrassed then they blush, if they are very embarrassed then they retreat.
Because all the possible if/then statements fit onto over one piece of paper,
The robots just say it’s incomprehensible.
So sadly they work long into the day and sometimes into the night,
Ripping off Shakespeare or whatever else they do,
Oblivious to what is really going on.
