The proof of past times.
The warning of the lost minds.
Who is more sane?
The man in suit and briefcase in hand.
Or the man who's cup jingles all covered in rags.
One clone circuits through the track never to win the race he runs.
The wonderer thinks on greater things but he's the only one.
There is no soul within the clones.
There's only ever wants.
To be accepted, labeled normal.
The manufacture never stops.
The few and wise are weary.
They see the soulless dancers.
They understand that man's diseased.
The Earth's very own cancer.
It's funny how they think themselves to be as good as good can be.
Then **** the world around them.
If they have hearts, they do not beat.
They trample truth beneath their feet!
They give no hope to those who seek!
They say their strong but THEY ARE WEAK!
THEYRE ALL AFRAID TO BE UNIQUE!
AFRAID OF TRUTH AND HUMBLE LIFE!
THIS MASS IS COMMITING SUICIDE!
FOR THEIR OWN COMFORTS AND LUXURIES.
YOU ALL ADD TO THE DISEASE.
but i am only one small voice.
They cannot hear above the noise.
They are a selfish loathsome thing.
The clones converge into one being.
They have no mind to do whats right.
They follow wrong reject the light.
BUT I WILL YELL AND SCREAM AND FIGHT!
BECAUSE I HAVE NOT LOST MY SIGHT!
I FOLLOW GOD AND SOMEDAY SOON.
He'll loose his rage.
To all untrue.