i've 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 didn't tell me:
it was a guarantee
for a life spent slaving for my own greed
cause it's really just a cog in a machine
that's 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?
til' i break my will to see another way
til' i'm 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 i'm staring at my reflection
and i don't 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 didn't want
loved a wife that he'd 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.