The Trap

Since the dawn of civilization,
they have always been above;
a crafty magician's nightmare,
trickling down from up above.

From the very depths of darkness,
the master has returned
to oversee who dreams amongst men,
riding those that won't be burned.

The matrix you can see
when, at night, you close your eyes;
the light inside the darkness
won't expose their soothing lies.

The story we were told
about the way we're bought and sold:
is it all a master plan
keeping us from being men?

They built them,
they pulled them down,
and you're still afraid to drown.
You're never going to walk.

Information from both sides
comes from a scarce place left to hide:
from the bank inside the bank,
from the king inside the king,
from the mind inside the soul,
from the stars that burned to coal.

Your resistance to this new world
is weak, and no one cares;
the world you live in now
is an illusion and also theirs.
Pull the shade now from your eyes,
step outside, and breathe in lies.

Because this is all you're going to get,
unless you want to share your bed.
Unless you'll cry yourself to sleep,
unless you're just like all the sheep.
Unless, like the weather, you change moods
and you return all of the goods.