This man… Is he the real rebel? That fearless revolutionary? No, he’s not. He’s just another weak man that streams the flag. Another helpless man to march in step With the music of the anthem of interest lack.
A slave of the daily routine Is the reflection he sees in the mirror. Will he ever feel like breaking this mold? The mold that has his hands tied, That doesn’t allow him to veer.
I don’t know…
Money over clean conscience And power over substance. They say “sated men the hungry don't ken”. Well, that truth is not for him, Not for this greedy man consumed by the envy, He keeps doing his thing.
A slave of the daily routine Is the reflection he sees in the mirror. Will he ever feel like breaking this mold? The mold that has his hands tied, That doesn’t allow him to veer.
I hope his pockets feel full enough. This empty man with a drained soul. A drained soul.
He doesn’t question why he feels so empty inside. He has no heart, no matter, maybe a mind? The wrong values swallowed him long time ago, Now in this cruel game he’s only one more.