No walls, but you're still locked in these halls
Where everyone that grows wings falls, and ghosts
Haunt you every day, your roles are false
Even when your goals are foes
And even though everything goes, of course
They'll still lead you off-course, long-nosed
Poor puppets whose minds are froze like those who've got no goals
Push some buttons that get you clothes, phones and gold
They're the same buttons that foretold the end of the world through wars and gore
Fables to leave an old man sore
And furthermore, what if your view of the world is torn
From the truth while they hand you roles so you could do their chores?
