Standardization for the modern cure
Blood tests for a certainty that can never be guaranteed
The expiration date is up in airs, hidden behind sour milk
When immunity disorders are prevalent for questionnaires
And evacuation maps are taped to boards for evasive terrorism
There is no time for pre-packaged slaughter ordained meat

Got to hit the stuff, got to find your demons
Got to find a warm coat and a Camel in your pocket.
No dancing tables
No jazz music
Nothing but the death rattles
Nothing but the broken aspirations from a dying race

When we’re raised by the dying,
Can we find a route to live?
Genetically modified tomatoes are ripened within four walls
Can I be watered daily within controlled temperatures
Or isn’t there enough sunlight from the greed of solar power

Bulldoze your way through
I think, I think I can
Hide in midnight and call for Bloody Mary
To see if she’ll really come to our tea party.

I’ve got to shoot
Got to run
Got to scream
Got to breathe
Got to banish this face in the moon
Got to hide
Got to pray
Got to dream
Got to pay the bills
Got to get
Got to get out of here.

Virtual reality does not thrive
I’m not a tomato and I don’t want any weeds in my bed.

 
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