Friday, February 15, 2013

Corporate Chains

I see you have me back against the wall, tossing bricks to make the world a better place.

Handing bailouts for the needless, handing freedom in silver chains.

Brothers and sisters lay bickering on what stance to take, should I kneel or should we stand.
Should we follow the hearts of man? 
As they alter us within, science experiments gone wild.
Genetic copies roaming the streets selling god on a business card.
Selling G O D on a 4x8

Soldiers lay in the fields, watching over genetic seeds.
Corporations just like apple pie, a piece of american heritage.
Our daily news like our daily bread, picked clean of goodness
left with a preservative freshness.

I know this road has many paths, I have tried to walk them all.
One step forward and a landslide back, progress never tasted so artificially sweet.
So do not scorn the person looking for freedom in shackles, he knows no better.

He waits in grocery isles waiting for the next super sale. 
He waits in coffee shops for a revelation.
He wanders the halls of museums running from his pasts.
As I wait for prophecy on the milk carton, worlds like diamonds in the sky.

Time the illusion of the watch maker, spinning suns and goodness gone.
The lines and lives will never haunt.

Man's word now holy, selling knowledge in great books to a weaker mind.
Selling weaker minds to the highest bidder.
Slavery now fitted with starbucks logos,
Will you take grande or just a large?
White or black?

I will not sell your wears, be your billboard for obey.
Be a product placement in the background as the play resumes.
I am only an actor, who has never even learned to read the lines.
Who has never learned to trust in time.
Who can't even say a simple rhyme...

I am a man not a consumer, my faith does not hold a price.
My freedoms have already been bought, and sold, and sold again.

I will not pray to Johnson and Johnson, I can not praise Citibank and visa.
For my collection is empty. 
I'm still looking for a morsel of truth.
My pockets are lined with the dust of kings, 
and my fools gold awaits.
Your pockets are filled with love, modified to taste, better then it feels.
Modified to feel like reality, to help you in these lonely times.

I am not just my material, as mothers are not just maternal.
Those days are old, the youth has nothing to do with the old.
The old has nothing to do with the youth, 
just fading glimpses of generations lost.
Just a penny is all I'm worth.
Picked off the street and placed in an old man's pocket.
Tossed from a child who has no self worth.

Consumerism and product placement.
Sowing thoughts for later generations.
The golden arches the new cross.
Walmart a place of worship.

Are we the brands that we wear?
Does a man in a suit speak with more knowledge then that of a man in jeans.
Can your Rolex tell me a better time?
Will that lotus get me laid...
Do I have to wear my label proud?
Walking like a peacock through the isles in the mall.
Watching heads turn.
Envy in their eyes as Prada parades down my feet.
Looking like a million dollars,
on minimum wage lifestyles.

It's too hard keeping up with the Jones.
My credit just can't take it.
Shoes are faded and worn.
Jeans held by frayed ends alone.
My ride is transit.
I have a hard enough time accepting that my life only consists of work.
Fun is for the poor.
I wonder if I sell out now would I get a good price.
I know the devil isn't buying souls any more, people are giving them away.
It's a sellers market.
But who's buying.

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