T-1000

An angel stands upon a rose bed
With thorns on each stem

She cries alone
She's all alone

What is this world coming to
When an angel must cry alone?

Selfish bastards

Have you looked in the mirror?
It's a terrible sight
In fact, you have broken the mirror
It has torn your face off

You are now a robot

You and the rest of your cooperative pulses
Are run by a machine, eager to earn their keep
Of the innocence stolen from an angel.