When it was not preordained by fated hands, 

Flailing unwanted and unheard, 

When it stirs nothing, no echo in another heart, 

It is not mean to live. 

It has no meaning unto itself, 

Merely a pining for what does not exist in analog, 

A species with no mate, it cannot be saved.

And it must be forced into the depths and drowned, 

Leaving a hole that will never be filled.

For it has no justification for life, 

Though, like a wild animal, it will fight to survive, 

Only to scratch and claw at the possessor eternal. 

It must be robbed of its fire and stamped out. 

It must be destroyed.