This one’s numbered, now he can grow
To make for us things that we love so
We’ll give him just enough slack to think
He’s free, before we drive him to the brink
These foolish clods don’t realize
They’re born and bred to swallow lies
And scurry about within the maze
We've made to keep them in a daze
Commence the training, let him learn
We tax whatever we let him earn
Oh look, there’s been another birth
Get them numbered, pad our worth.
Are You Reading Me?
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