An unfruitful hunt for happiness. People; this pain is only temporary, go!
Mass hysteria, insatiable and unattainable. The public swarm establishments just like a pack of rabid and infected dogs. Hunting for food, it's misconstrued!
They are by the items and their lust; it's mocking them in secretive manipulative whispers as the stench it crawls it lingers. It's looming over them; the pungent sterile of their next buy!
Don't cry, you've got a lot of shit. Everything will be fine. Bathe in this Synthetic euphoria.
Oh, don't cry you've got a lot of shit. Everything will be fine. Bathe in this Synthetic euphoria.
From within the plastic confines of an overarching advertising empire. Comes an unholy doctrinarian. Of a silent hand that reigns violence out of sight. Controlling minds and slowly entwining.
Maybe if I buy this item, my life will serve a purpose. Synthetic euphoria.
Maybe if I buy this item, my life will serve a purpose. Fake euphoria.
Look around you, as the public swarm the streets like zombies. Injecting corporate putridity into every available artery. Orifices teeming with a fictitious intoxication. Fake state of mind. Rip it the fuck apart!Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.