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Condition : To the Grave
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"Death is Your Patient Anxiety" {These memories rot inside
The champaigne flattens in time
When we pop the cork of ill will
we will, weak willed}
Madness comes to surface
Abusive, the words meant to hurt us
Violence designed to intimidate
Pain we can only alleviate
through hate
Fending off shadows
****
We celebrate their profane need to control
We celebrate their insane greed
as it's sold to us
In the veil of entertainment
In the veil of usefulness
We find ourselves bound to the currency of empty satsifactions
****
{These memories rot inside
The champaigne flattens in time
When we pop the cork of ill will
we will, weak willed}
Madness instilled through us
Lessons, the works meant to make callous
War designed to jade
From the cradle, we're fashioned
and played
From consumption to the grave
****
We buy, need this and that
We buy, buy, buy
They feed off our conditioning
Feeding off our wallets
Advertise in symphonies of temporaries
Working to live, living to work
We buy, need this and that
We buy, buy, buy
