As a matter of urgency, we must be un-earthed.
Oh boy, have we got a great story to tell -
A 3 second epic straight from the gates of hell.
We're the rejected lives grasping recycled lines,
Selling our cliched words to the weak tonight.
We're the tightly wound marionettes controlled by the strings above our heads.
Applaud the spokesman who's ever so loyal to his sheep.
You're not gonna get what you want out of me.
When did the words lose all of their meaning?
I'm not gonna bend myself over once again.
All us traitors share ties with executives upstairs.
The new recruit better not stutter as he writes to the blueprint
They've pa**ed down from those who came before.
Paint on your face, I hear you've been practicing quite hard.
The girl at the bar is impressed with your "call to arms".
Oh, set me aside, oh, and satirise.
I'm lost, dazzled and confused amidst these neon lights.
You aren't the broken and the rejected,
And no longer will my sewn mouth scream secrets internally.
We're manufactured mechanical salvation.
Desperation to break out is my treasured, clotting incision.
What this place needs is another worthwhile overdose,
To cull the overwhelming inefficiency of greed.
Are the symptoms appealing to the half-hearted you seek?
You speak with a stolen tongue, and you'll dissolve over the horizon.
You'll dissolve over the f**ing horizon.