Caught somewhere between my vision of Hell and yours,
I was shown the truest meaning of the place.
Where an eager mind and playful soul is forced to all fours,
And told that they mustn't wear their true face.
They manufacture devils in the name of social grace.
They'll strip you of your pride and rape you to your core,
And it isn't done until you've been cast to the rat race,
Just to be reminded that your life's become a bore.
But I won't be a cog within their cold and damned machine;
No, I'll never let them chip away who I am for their fair trade.
They manufacture devils, yet have the gall to call me mean.
I say I'm every bit the demon that you bastards made!