that is our executive order.
Build a dreamers' prison.
We'll break them in two,
and drain the colors from their veins.
Make them good for something-
they'll be the laborers.
We the logical,
we the metallic,
we the intelligent,
we will be the kings.
Yes, build for us a society
out of numbers,
stamp test scores on foreheads,
and the nonconformists
we'll whip with our scorn.
Aren't they useless,
those eager scientists,
those bright-eyed scholars?
God, how they disgust us.
So vulgar, vagrant, different.
Stupid, of course,
we know they're stupid, mentally challenged,
because they don't think
exactly like us.
But animals at least know their place.
The dreamers, they make things up.
They tell us
that they've got pores in their minds,
that let in oceans of liquid,
endless symphonies of music,
from an infinity of parallel universes.
They say there's more to the natural world
than meets the eye,
that in the depths of the ocean,
in the cores of constellations,
there are mysteries beyond thought.
They're like animals in their stupidity,
and like children in their lies.
Too long have these burdens
gotten away with this.
They suck up the world that belongs to us,
and their excuse is their dreams!
Listen to me!
The dreams are made up!
because I have never seen them.
Spit on those animals.
The best we can do is try and cure them.