Regurgitated Lullaby For The Born Dead

Prowling along the edge of misery

Suffocating on hope of better days

Questioning minds fed with the myth of opportunity

Death at birth

Still essential

As they want

But shall rise

Destiny chosen by fortunate ones, wounded for life

Can't become a master when you're born slave

Slavery for the shut mouths

Mortification for majority

So that masters

Keep sleeping in

Their castles built of gold

A child's dream, nothing but dreams,

Will soon start to burn and turn to ashes.

The production equation doesn't bring wealth

For everyone, a thing to benefit the fortunate

Ones/empowered ones. Awake the born dead.