| A cold steel womb. |
| a distorted view.
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| A deafening hum that wont be subdued
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| We’ve found our being within the churning, and the gears that are turning,
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| but to what End?
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| This is not what I’m meant for, this is not what i am.
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| A cog, a spoke in the machinery of men
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| That never takes us to where we haven’t been.
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| Is it too late to take this all back?
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| If i plant my feet upon this trail without a reason or destination,
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| Then this ship has sunk before its sailed.
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| An endless churning roar, a labyrinth of steel and ore.
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| Our blood becomes the oil, a meaningless, purposeless toil.
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| You are all mindless sheep
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| Just a piece of the machine.
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| Keep fueling your hopeless dreams,
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| They will never mean a thing.
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| Detach: can we pull these wires from our veins?
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| Divide our flesh, our blood, our names.
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| In the face of the machine i see my reflection stand and turn, as I walk.
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| I’m never coming back. |