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iâve got a pretty piece of paper
sealed in tempered glass
hanging on my wall
they told me it was a ticket
on a one way road to success
they told it was a guarantee
but what they didnât tell me:
it was a guarantee
for a life spent slaving for my own greed
cause itâs really just a cog in a machine
thatâs killing my mother
just a bullet in a gun pointed straight at my father
just a fucking collar i get to wear
and you expect me to live like this?
tilâ i break my will to see another way
tilâ iâm tired, broken and empty just like them
how do i tell them their entire lives were wasted?
stolen from them by habit and routine
perpetuated by their desire to breed
in the end am i just a tool
just a part of their machine?
now iâm staring at my reflection
and i donât know whether to feel proud or disgusted
and you expect me to live like this:
an old and broken man who said his piece
who threw out the truth and let it die in the streets
lived a life that he didnât want
loved a wife that heâd rather have not
keeping himself company between worn and weathered sheets
a model constructed to copy and follow
prescribed lies coated, fucking easy to swallow
degrees of happiness like shades of gray
never living a life just filling a series of days
and you expect me to live like this?
and you expect me to live like this?
and you expect me to live like this.