With attentions erect to conformist facade
We march, driven by forced respect
Pretentious and jaded, no err tolerated,
we won't leap from out of our sects

Dictatorship pecks all our cheeks
So we blush diplomatically

Like lemmings and sheep,
we'll form herds and lose sleep,
and watch blankly as sowing is trashed by the reaping

Militant Mother-Earth calls out our names
and will claim what patterns are placed
By the hour we toil to process turmoil
but are certain to see that it's packaged in lace

Religion ingestion has slaughtered the questions
and given us answers so soft to the touch
But man's methods are failing, we're forever sailing
in mite-ridden ships, much like misshapen crutches