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Walking Corpse Syndrome
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Minion
These synthetics will be our death. (x4)
The stench is all around me its pestilence is inside us all light this parasite leaching life cause standing alone is not a fault. Eating what's fed to you only to infest and fester leaves the want to stitch an eye shut kill these harams with disgust
These synthetics will be our death. (x4)
Slave to the invisible glam worship a pathetic material addiction delineates a lifeless generation an end time is now here not from an apocalypse but from a lack of our best interest still blank eyes remain stagnant get branded by names always indebted a total submission from a complete non-existence.
These plastics will decay now separate the fixated (x2)
All of these things, all that you dreamed, all that you worked for was all manifested by this illusion of peace of mind.
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Suffocate under all of these names and submit to their synthetic sweatshop banner you're just a sycophant (x2)
I hate you life you sycophant (x2)
An exit exists
Kill the artificial with a wave of solitude use the voice prone silent to escape from a mainstream atrophy stand alone break this user cycle stand alone burn all these cosmopolitan images and surrender the vogue trends bleed out this sickness discover what's human and what this new plague will breed so meaningless get a new fix we need an unwashed drive to gut them all speak of the trite as a disease display their colors without conviction never mind the excruciation for your velvet candor to weak to stand alone my sycophant
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