Minimum Slave - Graves at Sea

Conscious, a slave to the clock

Bar codes, lock down the machine

Finger prints stripped, and left at the door

Devour the fruit, and discard the core

Begging for scraps, and learn how to sit

Who demands for it anyway?

Programmed, return to the hive

The only exit’s when you’re eaten alive

Don’t forget at the end of the day

You’re not cared for anyway

Broken hopes, a sign of success

Metal walls designed to suppress

Graft the soul to the hand that feeds

Callousd skin, a sign of production

Collective purpose, xpanding the cell

Metal walls, encasing this hell

The scent, of fumes, sickens me

Shackled ankles never to be free

White lights, replace, the sky

Uniformed and waiting to die

Oppressed, breathing despair

Suffocate, deficient of truth

Pressure, those who keep busy

Emaciate, positions down low

Tendered, just enough to survive

Taxing, on body and mind

Failure, to keep up the pace

Promises to repair the failing body

Expendable, discard and replace

Abandoned, in a useless state

Decimation, in its wake

Gears turn, lumbering forward

Alive, while in a grave

Salt, the earth, oil the machine

Castrate, for display, save the best cuts for last

Conserve, the breath, stay alive

Morals, tarnished, the ladder points up

The weights, too strong, gravity pulls down

Wings clipped, eyes shut, purgatory

Awake, in regret, beg for release

A noose, is the gate, leading out