separated, compartmentalized
|
these are the dreary days
|
of our lives
|
screened out, and filed away
|
locked into drawers
|
of human decay
|
forced to live
|
wall to wall
|
bodies stacked from
|
floor to ceiling
|
this is not life but
|
subsistence that
|
we are feeling
|
given barely enough
|
so as not to make waves
|
convinced to fight
|
amongst eachother
|
our brothers and sisters
|
just to make wage
|
these scraps of social progress
|
are given to us to fabricate the
|
illusion of success
|
distractions to eat up
|
our time
|
|
when slavery wasn't so subtle
|
and we didn't have
|
american dreams to keep
|
us from waking the
|
exploitation was more
|
plain to see
|
|
instead of recognizing the state
|
in which we find ourselves
|
our attention is diverted
|
fingers pointing in
|
the wrong directions
|
blame has shifted focus from
|
the wealthy to those
|
struggling alongside us
|
|
we are trapped
|
in this cage
|
convinced we're
|
the players
|
when we are
|
the played
|
|
tell yourself it won't change
|
|
how much value do values retain
|
when the measure of a person
|
is his willingness to use violence
|
for his own personal gain?
|
|
we remain trapped in stasis
|
|
masses fight and struggle
|
vying for small priviledge
|
the rich continue to grow fat
|
as we carry the weight
|
upon our backs
|
|
there must be a path more fullfilling
|
other than the "choice" we've been given
|
between whether to rule or be ruled
|
give in to the strain
|
and be consumed
|
|
-----------------
|
Curses Honororum
|
If Hope Dies |