Chain Collector - Generic Portraits

We watch the madmen sort things out
Unmoved by theyr foul play and their intentions
Happily going onwards with our daily shores
Bound by the blindness controlled by the madness

A portrait created in your head
The artist being the puppeteer
Can you see the strings they pull?
Rip them down cut them off
Knowledge being fed through others
The individual being a long gone myth
Bow down to the will of few
Suppressed from birth and until death

I am your voice
Your thoughts of hate and lust
I am your tears
Feed upon the growing anger I am your choice
Your individual freedom
I am your fears
Rip off the hand that feeds you

Without a single voice to be heard
We devour their words and follow like cattle
The few who dare speak are silenced
Suppressed from birth and until death
Stare at them pulling your strings
Cutting them off without a single notice
Ripping your hands off with a smile
Hear the echoes of their laughter as tears are cried

Feel the growing hate inside your veins
Your heart pounding with burning rage
The time to strike back is so near
No more manipulating minds