Who kept track of the hours?
Who kept track of the days?
That we wasted away,
Nothing to say, nothing to do
But to portray versions of ourselves of how we'd like to be,
how we'd like to be seen
But the bitter truth is we've breathed new life into the meaning of insincerity
Reason, a concept of the past
Improve and adapt, or be forever the outcast
Coaxed and coerced in mock-genuinity
Down fall our social standards by mass-stupidity
This is now our reality
A visceral machine, a breeding entity
Shut the blinds, worship the screen of virtual substance and our mind's decline
And we dare call this the era of enlightenment
This is now our reality
A visceral machine, a breeding entity
Shallow vessels pave the way for young minds to be led astray