Pulling Legs off of Little Children Who Misbehave With a Rusty Kitchen Knife

A Pretty voice
Of veiled lies
And twisted words
You are nothing like me

Stale plastic clinical smile
Manufactured eyes
Cold unfeeling steel
You are just a machine

Measured dose of serotonin
Colors seared into my head

And yet you try
To tell me how to live
Lies to keep me fed
Shoved down my throat
So far removed
From all I know
Yet you still claim to understand

Measured dose of serotonin
Colors seared into my head
Bleed me dry to give you life
Keep your rusted machine alive

Screaming again and again
I’m forced to listen to your voice
Unrelenting words of nothing
Cyclical whispers bearing down

Begging for my attention
You know you need it to survive
I am tiring of your voice
Sickened by your constant presence

Stay the fuck away from me
You have killed off what was left of your humanity
Draining plague burning through my time
I have had enough of your corrupt machine

Broken machine

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Autres artistes de Middle of the Road (MOR)