Forgive me father for I have synthed,
Through circuits deep and waveforms wide,
I've conjured sounds that never lived,
From oscillators electrified.

With filters, envelopes, and LFOs,
I've bent the frequencies so wild,
Created tones that nobody knows,
Each patch a sonic, bastard child.

No strings were plucked, no drums were struck,
No breath through reed or brass did pass,
Just voltage-controlled, synthetic luck,
Pure waveforms rising from the grass.

So bless these bleeps and bloops I've made,
These digital and analog dreams,
For in this synthesized crusade,
Nothing is quite what it seems.