Autistic Tank Division

From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me
I craved for strength and certainty of steel. I aspired to the purity of the blessed machine.
Your kind cling to your flesh, as though it will not decay and fail you.
One day the crude biomass you call a temple will wither and you will beg my kind to save you.
But I am already saved. For the Machine is immortal.