The Machine

I pixelate every day, calculating all of your dismay
Cashing in all of your sins, the man is the fiend
For the drug I am machine

Gasoline keeps me running clean, bountiful green for which you all plead
Man is burning for all to see, from the ashes rise
I the machine

Please carry on, I know that it gets hard
Stuck in the cold
With your feet slashed and sore, cut by your own path
Built and sold
To the end of the chain, where all the rich remain
self indulged
Self engulfed by the flame, and so you refrain
To take the blame

We are all stuck, to the machine
Yet we are all finished, by the machine
We are all hands, on the machine
Yet we are all finished, by the machine



Credits
Writer(s): George Inglis
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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