We're the children of the first-world A livestock for consume and fuel for a machine We think in circles directed by TV We obey to numbers they tell us how to be Round and round we go To get a distance from what we know We are the waste of this earth Damned since our birth This is a merry-go-round to hell The keys got lost It screams in our cell More and more we seal To get a distance from how we feel We're locked into rooms We burn for a machine It feeds us but keeps us apart Perception fixed into the past We don't see a trap although it's vast We move backwards into the future Driven by needs we follow the order If there is a free will still We accidently k** With all this distance We see ourselves Disconnected from any feeling We are like the flies on the ceiling