Tick Tock

Born from the wreckage near the Everglades,
a being of techno-organic flesh remade,
and all came to greet with guns in a raid,
and Molotov cocktails, pitchforks and spades.

Deep in the swamps I was birthed by his precision,
but they didn't approve of my maker, my technician,
the voters were anonymous, with unanimous decision,
so I fled Florida, but something new had arisen.

In the fields of the mid-west, a purpose I found,
that deep within my casing, my maker had bound
a metal box with random numbers and a sound
of a ticking time bomb that would soon astound.