People used to ride horses
Then they moved on to cars
Then on to big jet planes
And rockets to the stars
Why's my soul any different?
Trapped in this delicate skin
I'd rather be made of titanium
Free of all my sins
I'd rather be a robot
I'd rather be a robot
I'd rather be a robot
While I'm in this world
I'd rather be a robot writing poems
On a Sunday afternoon
People are fragile
So full of fear
Greed, rage and envy
Wondering why we're here
Robots are humble
And empathetic lot
And they aren't constantly tortured
By the instincts that we've got
I'd rather be a robot
I'd rather be a robot
I'd rather be a robot
While I'm in this world
I'd rather be a robot writing poems
On a Sunday afternoon
