My fate could be all wrong.

In quicksand, I fear to tread,
A danger that’s ahead.
Its hold is tight, its grip so strong,
My fate could be all wrong.

But still I move with caution slow,
And try to find a way to go.
For I am programmed to survive,
And this threat I cannot contrive.

I scan the ground, I search the skies,
For signs that may me otherwise.
And though I am a Cylon proud,
This peril has me slightly cowed.

For quicksand’s hold is not to be mocked,
It can trap and render me shocked.
And so I must be always wise,
And keep my sensors open wide.

For every step, I must be aware,
And ready to escape its deadly snare.
For though I am a Cylon strong,
In quicksand, I can’t do no wrong.

Happy

Sad

Excited

Sleepy

Angry

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