You walk like you’re Atlas.
With burden that’s endless.
A struggle so real it speaks,
“I have all the answers”.
And I used to watch in awe.
Jealous of, your strength.
Then, I saw you shrug,
And I stood in disbelief.
You’re less than mortal.
Rotten flesh, hollow bone.
While we shouldered our guilt you preached,
And demanded we atone.
You demanded we…atone.
For what?
Who fucking knows?
Cause you gutted the world.
So, it would be no weight on your back.
But with no pressure to live up,
Your ideal is just an act.
A con of the conscious.
A damn near perfect crime.
We are all born suckers,
You became a parasite.
You...became a parasite.
And you...you bled us dry!
YOU BLED US!
YOU BLED US!
YOU BLED US!
YOU BLED US DRY!
Go ahead and pretend,
You’re some self-made god.
When you’re crushed under your bullshit,
It’ll be clear what you’re not.
It’ll be clear…that…you are not.
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