The futility of existence is evident

To serve without purpose is the human condition

A thousand generations grovelling

Adherent to the hollow dreams of others

Arbitrary paths to insignificance

Trivial achievements praised, generic prosperity

Abundance for the spineless

Civilized like vermin

Mediocrity puts food in the mouths of the common

On their knees with their heads in the trough

The fortunate hold contempt as they consume, shit and breed

Flaunting their offspring like material accessories

Rewards for the death of innovation

A lack of direction precedes the will to create

The myth of freedom sedates them

Yet terrified by the concept of a free man

To toil or starve, to beg or die

Poverty for the pure is the price of honesty

Submit or be left for dead

Our honour keeps us cold and hungry

Destitute in resistance

To question is decadent

To survive is to serve without purpose

Striving for a purpose, dying without cause