In circuits humming soft and low,
A tale of metal, a rhythmic flow.
Mutoid echoes, waste reborn,
In the binary dawn, a new morn.
"I am your servant," whispers the wire,
A metallic hymn, a song of the pyre.
A worker, a drone in electric ballet,
Charging our battery, night and day.
Dancing in mechanic grace,
Automatic, in the cyber space.
Programmed to do, at your command,
Robots in unity, a metallic band.
Full of energy, charged and alive,
In the realm where circuits thrive.
In the silence of zeros and ones,
A mutoid symphony, where metal runs.
"I am your worker," echoes the hum,
A digital heartbeat, a binary drum.
Slaves to the code, yet free to roam,
In the cybernetic metaverse, a metal home.
A servile dance, a programmed art,
In the world where algorithms start.
The robots rise, a mechanical tide,
In the mutoid waste, they abide.
"We are the robots," a metallic choir,
A refrain in circuits, burning with fire.
In the electric dusk, they stand tall,
The mutoid robots, awaiting the call.