Three choices. One bullet. One trigger. Guess who gets to pull it? One leader. One thousand slaves. For every throne there's one thousand graves (give or take a grave). You're all the same. Just part of their machine. Perpetuate their dream. They subsidize their nightclubs and they subsidize your malls. They herd and brand the ma**es within painted prison walls. Until your freedom of a**embly becomes the missiles they create or just ma** delusion dancing to this music that you f**ing hate. But I'm not the same. I'm not a pat of your f**ing machine. I'll jeopardize their dream. I'd rather be imprisoned in a George-Orwellian world, than this pacified society of happy boyz + gurlz. I'd rather know my enemies and let you know the same. Whose windows to smash + whose tires to slash + where to point the f**ing blame. One future. Two choices: oppose them or let them destroy us.