Текст пісні
Sick of being force-fed incessant encouragements
Everywhere I turn,
Peddling the promise of potential.
Blinding; obstructing the firmament,
Occupying every fucking inch available.
Before you can shape your life
Into one worth living,
First you must commit to one
That keeps their pockets lined.
Never you worry, it’ll trickle down
Trickle down like droplets
From a tap thats’ pipes are fit to burst.
This vitriol stems not
From the basic drive to elevate,
But the altruistic guise you adorn,
Bringing the shovel to our lips.
Earn, toil, gain – ‘til your wallet is fuller than your stomach,
To sustain a life spent just having to
Earn, toil, gain – potential, power, promise, pay;
You’ve always far less than you think.
“We make sure of it, have-not.”
I long to venture out
And my eyes not singe
From the searing glow
Of endless neon monoliths.
They burrow through your deepest woes
To keep you in the harvest’s throes.
What twisted game is this,
When you’re serf to that which serves you?