Cog in the Machinery

                                  No choice, we're forced into it

Education will not get you there

So easy, exploit us to

Fit the convention

We work for, their causes

Unknown to all of us



Stand in line, kiss their fifty feet

Broken spine

The aroma filled with grief

Taste so neat



Freedom under convention

Pain struck, into infinity

Recollect, the pieces

And glue them, together

We're just a small cog in a

Grand machinery



Stand in line, kiss their fifty feet

Broken spine

Put a spin on the commercial

Wheel and start to steal



Force fed, by society

A manual to a grand failure

The rules of the game must be

Learn or else you will soon see

That being born is not more

Than accept that you're fubar'd



Stand in line, kiss their fifty feet

Broken spine

The aroma filled with grief

Taste so neat