Drawing the eye to windows afar
Tuning ears to distant sounds
Cementing butts to chairs dead
The leash of the modern world
Much power you possess
Over the imagination of man
Feeding him recycled thought
Monoculturing his ideas
To flower as factory farms
Measuring his vitals
Metronome to sleep, eat or dance
Our tongues are now tied
Our appetite manipulated
Our food administered
Our vice studied
Break free my soul
From this machined torment
I want to play among blossoms
sporting innocence not tragedy
Be gone evil mirror
I will not be seduced
I will not query you
Time to be your master