| Methods of restriction are now fully automated
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| Used to make you feel safe inside your world but now you hate it
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| Bloated not sated, gazing sorrowfully from a wreck that you created
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| Abject loss, I cannot navigate it
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| With the innocent energy of a kids sublime creation
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| He’s a flying levitator conjured by subjugation
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| He is here to relish the fear, combatative poise transfixed to tear
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| At natures ward, from ground to air
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| Devastating mind controlling generals and presidents
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| Effortlessly still evading avalanching evidence
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| He ascertains the power is spreading
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| Reveals genetic codes unthreading
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| Each and every man and woman
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| Grasping out to armageddon
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| Leveraging living costs till infrastructures hemorrhage
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| Terrified consensus crushing all seditious elements
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| Making and wasting life with his broken apparatus
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| The event is overrated, shapes defined by saturation
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| Technospeak and doublespeak which at its best is incomplete
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| How alive now he can feel from his world he sits concealed
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| To fully hide the motives in this all consuming losing streak
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| Testing danger to reveal how his fate has been sealed
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| Rise, seize, question
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| The world is the will of the sentient
|
| A catalogue of dialogue, prosaic administrators
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| Rejecting, taking steps to break the monotonous sound breakers
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| Zoning into striking distance inking the words of careful choice
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| Divining light, increasing insight returning to the voice
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| First world dictators, shadow players, widow makers
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| A black nimbus rolling out across the acres
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| Transparent greed and hoarding, sick clutching, grasping essence in dead method
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| Time to learn your first and only lesson
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| Rise, seize, question
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| The world is the will of the sentient
|
| And it lives no matter what you put it through
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| Rest assured the conviction is bulletproof
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| It dismantles the cloaking revealing you
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| Better hope that your new shroud is bulletproof
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| Class divisions, roles played out in open prisons
|
| 'Is this my decision' outside the loop you may have visions
|
| Spoilt children, in some broken re-enactment
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| Yes you will be culpable for each and every action
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| This pining virtuosity a condition you hate
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| Living is the feeling, temporal is the living
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| Time is the restriction, if nothing is beyond
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| Your holding on your body is your bond |