The state of the world exists as it always has before
There's no growth, progress, or originality
Routine leads the way with repetition and decay
And your soul succumbs to this man made machine
Their will is yours if the reigns are taken
While the masses fumble on with their mob mentality
Routine leads the way with repetition and decay
And your soul succumbs to this man made machine
Pain all throughout as your body gives out
Only coldness comes with the internal silent scream
Your gears rotate on but they power not a thing
And you sway back and fourth as a man made machine
Man made machine
The state of the world exists as it always has before
There's no growth, progress, or originality
Routine leads the way with repetition and decay
And you end the life of this man made machine.