Merry-go-round-to-hell - Project Pitchfork

We’re the children of the first-world

A livestock for consume and fuel for a machine

We think in circles directed by TV

We obey to numbers they tell us how to be

Round and round we go

To get a distance from what we know

We are the waste of this earth

Damned since our birth

This is a merry-go-round to hell

The keys got lost

It screams in our cell

More and more we seal

To get a distance from how we feel

We’re locked into rooms

We burn for a machine

It feeds us but keeps us apart

Perception fixed into the past

We don’t see a trap although it’s vast

We move backwards into the future

Driven by needs we follow the order

If there is a free will still

We accidently kill

With all this distance

We see ourselves

Disconnected from any feeling

We are like the flies on the ceiling