Synthetic voices call for order,
They cant control the crowd
They've been waiting for their chance to be heard,
And their time is now.
A slender man of younger years,
Bereated by their childish fears,
Cries 'fuck this drama! Fuck you all!'
His voice backed by a thousand cheers
'We don't need your top ten hits,
Keep your best and worst dressed lists
The magazines and cover whores,
Who flirt in 2-D wont be missed
Your petty institution
Of purchased hearts and plastic gods
Foundation made to cover up
A nation full of flaws'
They march down to the factory
To where it all began
To call forth the one they search for
Towards their true god, Man |
Submission Name: Marchdown to the Factory
