My life Charred remains of a flame that's burned out My lips move but they won't make a sound I stand motionless, eyes to the ground Back for more With
Working, these bodies unconscious, all slaving for a lifetime with nothing to show. Hours injected, with years invested, for these martyrs with a dying
March of the animals the indication of a time where the passion of man is lived through fiction feed off of the bottom line let entertainment be the last
Sleepwalking through our spoon-fed lives... As evidence of times before in chapters long forgotten the reotting tombs of history are written by the victors
One time, the last rendition, too long I've sacrificed, dead stones in walls of freedom, built high with filth and vice, so blind you walk into their
Commodify the vision and sanctify the rape with moral antidotes wide awake and dead, we consumate the bond, stomach tied in knots, driving class relations
Out of the past, fall the bodies That have come before me Following your path They're just slaves, in need of life No ending in sight The rape of another
Thrust into this competition naked and undone Back to back yet divided on our own Fear breeding fear exploding pressures on we're locked away in self-
The culmination of decades inside the machine, where production processes continually reinvent a fabricated reality. Inviting creative destruction for
The triumph of boredom in everday life carries the wounded back to the frontline these starving men will fill your cities and bring their broken dreams
and extremely cruel, forget these fairytale images that the media has so conveniently led you to beleive, they are reared to live and eventually die in misery
Bred for the wheel... Running like a dog far too long waiting for a chance to 'be' learning your lessons with pride then fall into line your class inclination
Storm clouds spreading Black horizons oil slick the southern sky What prospects should I gather here to motivate my corpse to rise? Bloodshot My eyes
Falling fast through cracks in heaven, come carnivores is search of meat, the prophets of the moral order lead their herds of silent sheep, architects
Waking up living is like waking up dead. As the workers climb the precipice, the queen ant's still asleep in bed. She's hording all their rations, with
Each man can make their difference in life If someone would even try For each of us lies rotting dead Our ideas will never die One man can start this
These images of the television heads Spouting promises that disappear in days Move and shift as we cross the Styx And the carnival slips out of town
Innocence and prejudice Ruling perverse minds Molded by environment Hatred of all kinds Never knowing tolerance The ignorant domain Never knowing freedom
