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Millions of sense, on which the country runs, Thrown mindlessly into the register, As meaningless as the blank robot faces Making their routine stop They feed their trained starving mouths Filled and spilled with empty substance Chemicals mixed to send shock to Molded wired brains Hm, black suit today.. It reeks of death Black suits and briefcases stinking up The stale space between the four walls, That lock them in tighter than their own minds, But not strong enough to mask the stale burnt beans Mask, masked faces, painted smiles, tired, tired eyes Leave Their pockets that much emptier.
0
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
America runs on control
Millions of sense, on which the country runs, Thrown mindlessly into the register, As meaningless as the blank robot faces Making their routine stop They feed their trained starving mouths Filled and spilled with empty substance Chemicals mixed to send shock to Molded wired brains Hm, black suit today.. It reeks of death Black suits and briefcases stinking up The stale space between the four walls, That lock them in tighter than their own minds, But not strong enough to mask the stale burnt beans Mask, masked faces, painted smiles, tired, tired eyes Leave Their pockets that much emptier.
alyson-byrne
Written by
American
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 8:07 AM UTC
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