The machine we’ve built
Is killing us
Drilling us
With stuff we don’t need.
Noxious nioxins,
Dioxins, toxins
One-millionth of an ounce
That weigh heavy on our hearts.
Chemicals you can’t pronounce
Not in God’s vocabulary
Or even His syllabury
Outside His constabulary.
There’s no avoiding
Pure poison.
It’s homicide
From the inside
Toxicide
Genocide
From all sides.
Like King Cnut, you can’t stop the sea
It’s a toxic ride
This chemical tide.
And don’t get me started on plastic
The planet’s gone spastic
Our cells are stiff, not elastic.
Time to take steps that are drastic
Go recluse, go monastic
Go ecclesiastic
Our soul’s achondroplastic
Stuck together with mastic.
(I’m not even being sarcastic.)
A billion killers inside of us
Working from the inside out.
An inside job.
You have to believe me, believe me
Or the men in white coats
Will relieve me, relieve me
Of my freedom.
They’re tryna freeze me
Or tease me
But I ain’t laughing.
Freedom, huh?
A mere illusion
A flight-of-fancy allusion
Or a collusion
A cruel delusion
To sow confusion
In the minds of men
And keep them small.
Stop them walking tall.
Make them crawl.
I feel invaded, assaulted
Colonised, monopolised, deported
Body and soul occupied
By a foreign force.
Institutionalised by institutional lies.
Victimised, mesmerised, alienised
By the promise of riches
Advertised.
Money’s been weaponised.
And we’ve been monetised.
That’s it.
That’s the lie.
Hidden in rationality
Everyday banality
Reasonable proportionality
Contact-less functionality
Newtonian causality
Intellectual principality.
In truth, it’s a profanity
A modern form of insanity
Certainly vanity
Is the monetisation of our humanity.
Whatever you are
Brother, sun, husband, wife
The curse of The Machine
Is to value money over life.
