A 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
Painstruck, 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