And these neon lights just burn our eyes, while dead air's filling our lungs
We slave away our lives instead of dancing in the remains of this forgotten world
We are just the objects of trade in this death rat-race of this globe gone wild
Tell me what is left for us, tell me what is left for me
Is it only the paper bag what holds our flesh, and the plastic cup we drink our blood from?
We buy our packaged lives back from the ones we are selling our souls to
There's a damn good sense of business in here
Reproduced human lives from a pounding heart to a cup of blood, from a breathing body to a bag of shredded burning flesh
You buy, we sell, we buy, you sell
This is just a damn fucking circle, and in the end we always lose
Looks like a tiring game we constantly play, but still, we are so easy to be led astray by the constant agenda, what might help us believe that we will win by trading ourselves away for a bunch of papers that do have numbers
While we are the ones who are THE numbers
This is just like a code on our foreheads
Control
Delete
Control
Delete
Press Enter and erase us from the maps
Times are changing, so be fast
Control
Delete
Control
Delete
Press Enter until we press backspace