Who kept track of the hours?

Who kept track of the days?

That we wasted away, nothing to say, nothing to do

But to portray versions of ourselves of how we'd like to be, how we'd like to be seen

But the bitter truth is we've breathed new life into the meaning of insincerity

Reason, a concept of the past

Improve and adapt, or be forever the outcast

Coaxed and coerced in mock-genuinity

Down fall our social standards by mass-stupidity

This is now our reality

A visceral machine, a breeding entity

Shut the blinds, worship the screen of virtual substance and our mind's decline

And we dare call this the era of enlightenment

This is now our reality

A visceral machine, a breeding entity

Shallow vessels pave the way for young minds to be led astray