Tyre's spinning circles round and back and round again,
Silver-streaked phantasms hover along the street lights,
Flicker, Flicker, than off.
In the trench, wretched skin-eating enemies with ploy,
The key-locked hearts of America transcribe the truth into convenience,
The factories of hatred lie and supply the ever-starving fantasies of its youth,
Don't wake up.
Don't wake up.
God, don't wake up yet.
Don't wake up.
Don't wake up or they'll have your head.
Don't speak up.
Don't you dare speak your mind.
You'll be stricken your birthright.
Don't you move.
Don't you move.
Don't you move an inch.
Don't you scratch that itch on your ear.
Don't breathe.
Don't breathe.
Don't you dare breathe any kind of expression.
They love to cut tongues.
It's lost.
The rest is lost.
Don't move.
Don't you move.
Not yet.

If they don't hollow out your hands, you'd better ask them to,
X...

With drumstick fingers tapping steady on iron bars and on bar countertops,
You've known what they don't,
They'll struggle while you show off slight of hand,
Please don't let them near,
Don't let them near.
Let me tell you.

Don't ask them favors.
Don't ask them.
They'll return kindness with slaps and spit to the face,
Don't fight back.
Don't fight back.
Don't you dare fight back or else they'll find you in sleep.

You're the same as them but you care not.
You have no emotion in your actions.
Robotic adaptations of misled individuals.

It's a pity they left those skeletons to rust.
I'm sure we'd have found good use in them.