Marching like pigs to the butcher
raising their hands high.
Jumping and screaming with such emotion
although they don't know why.

Listening to the same melodies
disguised by different voices
How can they feel free
while others design their choices?

Spat by the womb of fortune,
there's a new band eveyday.
But how can they become unique
if there's nothing original to play?

The ones on top chew the same old bones,
hate,love,murder-murder,love,hate
pretty faces with no talent,
merely blessed by mother fate.

And they'll keep growing more n more n more
Until a David Chapman roses.
So they can reset and begin once again,
oblivious of what this sound market causes