Chemicals flowing through my veins
Gaining ground, like a slow-moving train.
On this track, I'm going to wind up dead.
Corporate gun held to my fucking head.
I'm a number, I am not a name.
Suffering from cost efficiency.
Poisoned while chomping at the bit.
Somehow I started, now I can't quit.
Profits made at our expense.
No regard for public wellness.
Population's terminally sick.
Regulations are total bullshit.
Flowing through my veins,
Like a slow-moving train.
I'm going to wind up dead.
Gun held straight to my head.
Survival's out of style,
Time is but a thief.
Can't sustain yourself
With the legs swept underneath.
Hoping for a bone in a sea scraps.
Expect nothing more than the courtesy of rats.
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