Razor At Your Throat


It’s not like I’ve bin keepin’ count nor tallying the score,
but the more I sit and ponder, the-more they have to answer for.
I could cry (along) with (all) the others, I din’ know no different!
But what’s the point? I cannot lie, nor play-act ignorant.

You’re cursed if you believe it, you are doomed if you don’t,
got an axe at your back and a

razor at your throat.

I was signed off as a number, ‘fore I was cuttin’ teeth,
a real-life fuckin’ nightmare, in my deepest, sinless sleep.
Welcome to the royal firm! Puttin’ subjection in subject.
Hidin’ behind faceless layers, but their power goes unchecked.

PRE-CHORUS

CHORUS

Worse than Huxley’s “Brave New World”, we’re modified in life,
feedin’ us (on) poisened potions, wrapped-up-in pain, trouble ‘n’ strife.
“They” nearly lost the handle, “they” almost lost the plot,
but now we’re herded for the slaughter, our necks born into tight garottes.

PRE-CHORUS

CHORUS

©30.9.2019 Andrew Robert Chapman

Welcome to the royal firm! Puttin’ the subject into slave.
but now we’re herded for the slaughter, they’ve a blind spot.
but now we’re herded for the slaughter, our necks sport their x garotte.


%d bloggers like this: