Incorporated identity or that's what the corporates are telling me, easy like a.b.c if you believe in hypocrisy or the right of a ruling class to pass on human rights.
Some nights I don't sleep, I am weary but keeping a diary to confide in, to take some pride in something is better than nothing and nothing is nothing at all.
Perhaps I'm the oddball or the cue on the eight ball, they'd take me, remake me, remould me, I told you but you didn't believe me and now they've got you,
incarcerated
and they'll incorporate you, bring you into the fold and indoctrinate you, use you up and discard what's left of you, when hope goes down the pan it's the 'man' who flushes it,
I believe it and I think we're all doomed, one room apartments, high rents and the rich bent with the weight of the cash that they carry, carry on, all in a day, all for the fray and the lions are hungry.