Megalith clockwork human machine
Just a bolt in the gear on the grayscale scene
Post my week's existence with a piece of tape
And it’s rundown and it's ragged, all out of shape
Bones get tossed in every kind of way
Killin my time, I got nothin more to say
And it’s solid and it’s clear, fallin way too deep
And these breakroom walls are puttin me to sleep, yeah
Total phony fantasy, a circus of the know-nothing
Self-righteous wannabes sell out for anything
The bloated moon and tired sun starin each other down
It's a torn up chair, it's a soaked-down bed
It's a nightlight for the priest
It's a hollowed all-out free-for-all gunnin everywhere for the least
There's some jackass skate rat hoodlum kids killin time like drunken sloths
There's an open sign lit up attractin nothin but the moths
It's a suicide deuce and feeling loose and smoking mild crack
It's a smile to your face and flip the bird behind your back
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