We picked our scabs until they bled, we needed a new perspective on life. Ten years getting high, laying tribute to people, to progress, to the dust. It's not you it's your cage. Every day we get up, drain our blood, take our drugs, beat our lungs, tell ourselves we'll be better in the long run. Praise our preachers of majestic features. We're ill. Angst ridden. We're just the product and so are our children. It's not you it's your cage. Praise be the society we're in.