We are Ulster cyborg agents
Born beneath another Sun
Spreading all our fine contagions.
No man is an island (Donne).
We will help your local droid
Climb out of her awful void.
We are North Irish bots
Servants of the Darker Star:
We would like to call your shots,
Start your automatic car –
Try not to be prejudicial,
All our brains are artificial.
We’re bionic Brits of Orange,
Nothing rhymes with us at all:
We don’t like the Tories, nor enj-
Oy their game of beck-and-call.
Pay our daleks off in tenners:
Mind our birth-star’s silent menace.
We’re the Province automata,
Nemesis beneath our bowlers:
We will help restore your data –
After that, we’re frankly soulless.
Give us cash, and when you’ve paid,
Do not rain on our parade.
Click here for the evil twin Sun story
Click here for the robot self-doubt story