Your goals hang in front of your eyes, but today you'll spend waiting, suffering. Your goals have turned into dreams, another year spent waiting, suffering
The image projected is luxury, useless but needed, as glazed eyes stare glued to the screen. A lifestyle falsified, economics fragmented, now billions
We awake to the dawn of a new vicious age, sweating from the nightmares of a thousand hours past. Restitution paid, seams neatly mended, our hearts beat
Beckoned to the frontlines, to ease the pain from starving stomachs. No floods of tears, no stench of death on the screen. Beckoned to dismiss, chosen
masters of the scheme; the ones in the labcoats, the shadowed technicians, the gilded proprietors of the last seas of green. Drain the excess from the
After the landmine holes have been refilled, after the bombed-out buildings have been rebuilt, when the din of the mournful cries is no longer real,
In, out, another clock to punch. And now I can't take it. To me, this game has to cease. Now hiring smiling faces and I'm only wearing a frown.
Two thousand years waiting for the king: A plastic Christ on a plastic cross. A million church pews on Sunday, a million offerings for the king, a million
In a free land, we watch our victories, killing our annoyances as the troops march away. We talk of no more, for there's a price to pay. In a free land
Behind the golden gates and the locked doors. Away from where the cops beat aimlessly. Where the parasites are plentiful and the usurpers feast on the
I see no fascination, I see no spark of light. Their toys are showered down like acid rain, but the beams will corrode, and we will fall
Etched in the woodwork, the faint histories, the private shadows of secrecy. Their lineage, their words tell us nothing. Their voices caress, and lick
their sequenced affairs, angels will scatter the land, fluttering, flying like moths to the flame. Rising to march on the eastern plague, rising to march
belief. We will bring you down the same as those you have taken from me. Lies and deceit. No more lies of stolen dreams taken from me
There is bullshit on your breath. I can't believe that we are all fine. Nothing but worries as the rivers run black. Polluted pastures on grey landscapes
The illusion of blind faith keeps blind faith alive. No need to mention the nonbelievers, there's only so much room. But now the rapture is here, an
"I can do whatever I want" repeated thousands of times in your head because you lack the intelligence to think of anything else. We'll continue to live
Wild dogs are running, bearing their fangs to the scent of blood on the air, ready to rip the flesh from our bones. Until the cracks and hollows are
