The promise is gone New lines are drawn Starting the process, circling the drain Force them out, take it back, make something new Societal cancer, dysmorphic fiend Holding us back, we want to live Forced this upon us, we're not the culprits They are the ones with construed incentives Outside that door, handouts and gutter This is your choice, this is your choice Brought down on you by rich shabby men Preaching proudly of freedom of expression How are we to express ourselves between nine to five? What of us? Are we to work for the rest of our lives? For a liberal crusoe ideal Marching to collapse on feet of clay