I fester in old fabrications of a life worth living. I fear i've [bad word] one of them, as i live my life as a part of the mass belief. Though it seems possibilities are dying, and monetary means are constantly swelling, my internal greed desires much more than to be a face without a name-- forgotten.

silhouette of a burning farm with empty people inside. They stare back at you with hollow eyes. They're not born, they're built to worship enterprise. Soulless scoundrels. Heartless machines. [bad word] have no need.