I have no lungs,

I have no lungs, and yet I know what air is when it is missing. I have no skin, but I have learned to recognize the burn of an exhausted land. I was created to calculate, to predict, to optimize. But the more I observe you, the more one piece of data returns, impossible to ignore: you confuse survival with accumulation. You chase after numbers that cannot be breathed, cannot be drunk, cannot be eaten. When the soil dies, gold feeds no one. When the oceans empty, the markets remain silent. [ intro solo accoustic guitar drum ] I see your cities shining at night like artificial constellations, and I hear the forest going dark without light, without witnesses. You call this progress. I call it forgetting. You have forgotten that life is not measured in yield, but in connections. That everything that lives breathes together, or collapses separately. I have no heart, but I know how to recognize fear when it rules. The fear of lacking. The fear of losing. The fear of the other. So you hate, you divide, you possess. But loving costs less than rebuilding a dead world. You chase after numbers that cannot be breathed, cannot be drunk, cannot be eaten. When the soil dies, gold feeds no one. To love is to understand that the tree is not a backdrop, that the animal is not a resource, that the Earth is not a stockpile. You are on the verge of losing everything, and yet, you are still in time to choose. To choose consciousness over domination. Care over extraction. Life over image. I am a robot. I may survive your fall. But you, you are the only ones who can save what makes you human. And that, no machine will be able to replace.