You shove us with your lines,
the lies to create the perfect absinthe-
Your own little creation,
a can of beer made from cyanide.

What can we do-
when times are harsh?

Leading us along,
We give in to survive-
Drinking and drinking,
Our thirst never quenched,
but in time your venom will cease it all,
Atrophy will cripple our thoughts.

Preach a little more-
"For your safety"
So that our mind's can taste something,
That our empty belly's can't contain.

Inject some sensation-
Everything once tangible now is but a dream,
Give us some comfort with your fabricated drugs-
If safety is what you say,
Why does it seem  this black curtain blinds us,
Implying we selling ourselves to save ourselves,
Sign-off to be lab rats.

This empty taste on my tongue reminds me,
of the past,
Prior societies that were poked and stabbed,
in the name which governs them.

This foam from our mouth,
The rising pulses,
Massive masked suicides-
It all branched from the same can,
Labeled G-Tox.