Every day is a bit more grim
Our chance for survival increasingly slim
Well, at least that’s what we’re constantly told
By those who trade their souls for gold
Portraying themselves as properly prim
While hoping we buy the lies they sold;
They have a script from which they read
Convincing those whose minds aren’t freed
That everything they ‘break’ is true
As they endlessly repeat the few
Hypnotic triggers guaranteed
To make some do what they want them to.
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