The invisible hand is an iron first, helpless

This distress merits unrest, but a shot in the dark is aimless

This is an entity, a pent up energy

Dissidence will not concede to this homogeny

Dissidence will not concede, to this uniformity

Dissidence will not concede that our dreams can't be realities

Freedom isn't my ability to cope with this predestiny, to choose where I get a degree, or where I spend 40 hours a week

They commodified the air I breathe, and everything that my eyes see--but I've built walls, I've built walls all around me

They're not getting through to me, no--not getting through

If we can only strive to subsist, if we believe that we can't make a difference, if we believe our dreams are meaningless...

Life is an empty promise

Life's not an empty promise