No matter how much they hate them, people seem to cling on to jobs like their lives depend on them, as if planning and foresight don’t exist in parallel with stepping into the unknown in search of destiny.
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Prognathous gears grind
So diligent and serrated they mesh
Toothed cogs churn
So trenchant against soft flesh
Worked to the bone
Up to the hilt, deprecated
Raw materialism
To stoke the furnaces
Toiling, rotting
Life slowly slips away
Consumed, inhumed
In this mechanized corruption line
By mincing machinery industrialized
Pulped and pulverized
Enslaved to the grind
Blood, sweat, toil, tears
Arbeit macht fleisch
Grave to the grind
Blood, sweat, toil, tears
Arbeit macht fleisch
Inimitable gears twist
To churn a living grave
Stainless cogs shredding
Scathing pistons bludgeon and flail
Stripping to the bone
Return mandrels levitate
Just raw material
Your pound of flesh for the suzerain
Toiling, rotting
Life slowly dissipates
Consumed, inhumed
In a corruption line, mechanized
By mincing machinery, industrialized
Crunched and brutalized
Engrave to the blind
Blood, sweat, toil, tears
Arbeit macht fleisch
Blood, sweat, toil, tears
Arbeit macht fleisch
Arbeit macht fleisch
Future Consciousness 