God, bless the lowborn and the shy of luck, Those rubbing nickels, hoping for a spark, The tweakers, boozers, losers, and the fucked Who breed like cats behind the mobile park. And bless them even when they’re screwing up, Or shooting up, or burgling something sad, Or fishing for old cig butts in that cup That’s sat on each back porch they’ve ever had. You’ll know them by their teeth and by their rage, And by the way they’ll give you their last dime, And how their faces never match their age, And by how slow they are to judge a crime. God, bless the misfits, midwits, whores, and flameouts too. For they are lowest who live most near you.
There's nothing Artificial about our Intelligence