Drones, all well fit into the frame
Of normality or false abnormality
Secretly they all feel shame
About their lack of originality

Hiding behind an illision
Of conservative points of views
Creating complex confusion
And multiple whos

Different shit, same haircut
Same freaking clothes
And a psyche slammed shut
Ignorant to new roads

Judging insides by the outside,
out of prejudices and fears,
Pretending to have pride
Over a pain that’s not theirs

Wears black, dances after a sad tune
Pretending to be outcast and hated
Some styled and drenched in parfume
It all makes me feel aphyxiated