Here he stands, one of a million in a forest full of his kind
Captured by a voice talking to them again and again
Cutting through the skull into their brains
Lifeless eyes looking up to the throne
Waiting for new orders, the only guiding line
Fill up the red sea again, burn the corpses
Let the mechanical children grow up from the ashes
Clear the emotion sector
It's all a question of systematic surveillance
Reality is superfluous, a disturbing factor
In the voice they trust, no doubts at any time
Control is everything, the strenght that keeps the system going
Pills for the organic tool, to get them up and down
Their lives reduced to this
It takes a period of time to make him listen
Taking out the colours from their eyes makes it so much easier
His decisions are routine
An automatic reaction with only one possible solution
Their pride is growing with every word they hear
Hungering for more, for the coming hibernation
Now they can take new orders
The voice still burning in the deepest thoughts
All seeking for perfection, this wish is breaking his mind
Maybe one will stand out, so he can carry the flag
The rest will burn soon and become a new breeding ground
Afterwards, they'll complete the process