I have a little story for you.        

This man… Is he the real rebel?
That fearless revolutionary? No, he’s not. 
He’s just another weak man that streams the flag.
Another helpless man to march in step
With the music of the anthem of interest lack

slave of the daily routine 
Is the reflection he sees in the mirror.
Will he ever feel like breaking this mold?
The mold that has his hands tied
That doesn’t allow him to veer.

I don’t know…

Money over clean conscience
And power over substance.
They say “sated men the hungry don't ken”
Well, that [bad word] is not for him,
Not for this greedy man consumed by the envy, 
He keeps doing his thing

slave of the daily routine
Is the reflection he sees in the mirror
Will he ever feel like breaking this mold
The mold that has his hands tied
That doesn’t allow him to veer

I hope his pockets feel full enough, 
This empty man with a drained soul…
drained soul…

He doesn’t question why he feels so empty inside.
He has no heart, no matter… Maybe a mind?
The wrong values swallowed him a long time ago
Now in this [bad word] game he’s only one more.