I’ve breached the edge of control

Can one digest this dish served cold?

Sick of its quest to own

Destroying the lives that go down its road

Never to head the ways

That equips the mind for surviving its games

To seek what is naturally sought

Will only put a price on what shouldn’t be bought

 [bad word] 

I never thought the choice would be to fold, cashing in humanity

Paint your nails while our morals rot to the bone, giving honor to what should not be

circle that’s oddly shaped

And is as crooked as the scum that supply the bait

They take the ones with a dream

And remold them into fake material fiends

So this is what it’s [bad word] 

The virtues that stand will be slain by the gun

Unless there’s a way to regain

The honor that was once a rival to fame