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You create a hell for the ones to buy your illusion.
You design a spell that you cast upon the forsaken.
Hortative.
You engender temptation.
Re-create.
Invent the latest sensation.
Procreate.
Produce the perfect delusion.
Your god is digital.

You erase the deviations.
Adding beauty to the frail.
Dreams contrived upon a drawing-table set the pace of the vain.
Trust the vagaries of fashion.
Do what an the others do.
Total loss of independence.
You've always wishing you were someone else.

You create a hell for the ones to buy your illusion.
You design a spell that you cast upon the forsaken.
Hortative.
Yoy engender temptation.
Re - create.
Invent the latest sensatiion.
Procreate.
Produce the perfect delusion.
Your god is digital.

You behold your victims inane.
Opinions cast aside.
And when they try to change.
And try to find their native demeanor.
They are frozen out. precluded from the coven from the mass of fools.
There's a message and receivers who will see it as a rule.
There's an image made to covet.
Global mass-manipulation complete.
High-technology will cover all the errors in the way.
Can't you see that you deflower and deform the generations to come.
You behold your victims inane.
Opinions cast aside.

I will have to confess.
The music you listen to now.
Is pretty damn far from the truth.
In league with machines.
That help me to play all of the harmonies born in my head.
You behold your victims inane.
Opinions cast aside.

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