I regenerate with every sip that I take, of the magic bottle filled with life concentrate. Even though the superficial tries to dicredit my thrist. But I'll corrupt the machine and force it to operate in reverse. The cold unfeeling gears decrepit, bacause that's the way I left it, give it data previously rejected, so the system shuts down, imperfected. The weakness lies in the fact that I am intangible. It relies on a life source that I can cut and tangle. What we create we cannot enslave. Do not bow down to what you've made. There is no struggle without a cause to struggle against. Break the chains and burn down the fucking fence. Remove the blinds from thine eyes. Now you must wake up and realize. The truth is not the thing first given. Wake up and look at how you're living. The bullshit piles up higher on a daily basis. You can see it on the populace's faces. People struggling without reason for invisible goals. Selling incriments of themselves while holding tight to their souls. Deep in the backstreets of cities life claws at the gut of us all. Waiting for one of us to make a mistake, so it can take advantage of the fall.